Two dates: separated by half a year, one week, and a day. They face each other, in concept, as two massive monoliths. Carved heavy with script only I can see. Words written with weight I cannot read. An neo-ancient stone calendar whose whispers are lost amid the cycles.
It is a time of festivities for a loved one. I lament that my rejoicing is made through grief. Celebrated-by-mourning. Praying that my slow demonization is turned to righteous happiness through retrospective alchemies.
I set a gift aside, unfinished. It remains messily unwrapped, on the brink of completion.
See, I cannot bear to commit my will-o-wisp of hope to it's sanatorium. So my little ember and I, we rejoice together, alone.
11:41 p.m. - 2014-10-14
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