My heart is still weary, heavy from the recent events that have happened. Calamities have befall me, and I am in no shape to take them up. Each day, sleep continues to elude me and the food has lost its taste. No matter how delicious, how ravenous I may be, I still couldn’t be bothered to bring a piece of grub to my orifice. I know I must, but yet, spiritus quidem promptus est, caro vero infirma. The spirit is willing, but the flesh, ever, is weak.
Bit by bit, I allow each shred of humanity to fly to the wind, to disperse it along the sandy dunes of the desert. I am hollowed out and wearied, hollowed out, for trusting too much and being too naive. As I have mentioned before, words are but physical constructs, and no one, not even an immortal, could have predict what was going to happen in the future. Perhaps I would be like the Hollows in Bleach, waiting for a Death God to come and claim me, to cleanse me of my sins and bring me with them.
I had a story unfinished. A fairytale if you will. I started writing on it not too long ago. Or was it very long ago? I couldn’t really remember. Time doesn’t seem like what it is anymore. I put in many hours, thinking about the characters, the necessary twist in the story and of course, the happy ending. Which fairytale doesn’t end happily ever after?
But I realised there are some that didn’t. In the end, that many hours of labour was all put to naught. It was to have been a gift, not so many months from now, perhaps somewhere around nine months from today? A fairytale, a gift that would take me a year to prepare and write.
I dreamt of her yet again.
She asking me, “Wanna play minesweeper?”
Such a lovely smile, such a lovely face. Oh, it just fills me with pain, the distance between me and here.
But Fate, fickle mistress as she is, had me played left right and centre. I didn’t realise I was taking her bait at all until the hook was wrenched forcefully from the lips, leaving it all bloodied, and I was thrown into the pail. I understand now, Mistress. All this happens for a reason. One day perhaps, I’ll live again. But for now, I’ll be contented to just lick my wounds, and press on, a foolish moth being attracted to the fire, knowing that it had burnt it before, yet, stubbornly it persists.
A moth. Beautiful in its ugliness, however short a life it leads.
Your servant
Aristocrat
guerrilla.moon 
I don’t mean to pick on your flaws,
but it dawned upon me, how you are trying to hide behind your ‘thin grey line drawn between fact and fiction’. I apologise if my ‘judgment’, however shallow, has peeved you in anyway. Perhaps I am too young to understand.
Time to sober up, my friend.
Life is waiting.
In the first place, young one, I am already hiding behind a persona. It doesn’t make any difference whether that persona hides beneath another right? *Smiles gently*
And it is true at times, that my writer’s instinct tend to get better of me, and I will exaggerate things, here and there. Therefore, there is really neither truth nor untruths.
This is my world dear friend…
All criticisms are much welcome don’t you worry about peeving me off 🙂
Thanks for caring.
And for all who cared one way or another, bless your souls as well.
Ave Maria.
This is a sad piece. Nonetheless, your emotions were nicely portrayed. 🙂
“A moth. Beautiful in its ugliness, however short a life it leads.”
For some reason, this line makes me wonder; if given a choice between a short but beautiful life, and a long but not so beautiful, which one would you choose?
Mystique my fellow wordsmith :), the answer is already there. If given a choice, I would be the moth all over again for it would have but led a beautiful life…And it would have been most meaningful to me. What about you?
Chin Up my friend. The long and lonely road will end soon…
Take care and do cheer up.
*On the same boat*
We all want a life that’s meaningful, satisfying and fulfilling. So definitely, a beautiful life.:)