I placed pages in the river, Ga’hala. Tattooed leaves just left to rot. A broken book of once-wed promise. Things almost forgot. We kings were never not. Eyes of glass like doorways, and sisters still betrothed. Unadorned, acknowledged, unclothed. At last I'm brave enough to understand, hanging colours in your nights. Ama'eth. Vena'mal. Astolat. I just meet you in the sky now, Halla. At the edges of the earth. Hidden in the hallways of the temple of your birth. That boy left on the lake-bed; I couldn't let him drown. Leave rusting in my armour, or trade conquer for this crown. Tell me, what kind of choice is love or the lack of love? Just days until the temple, my brother. Ever our princess slept. Nearest her prince. Is it still blindness to reimagine times passed, or just the heavy of this heart? Failing to leave convincingly, I think. Still pretending on both accounts. That I don't miss you terribly anymore.
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