In the most simply elegant piece of
red fibre, which was fortunate
enough to cover the most smooth
skin in the vastness of the
unimaginable universe, she was the
most charming lady who ever
existed on any stretch of land.
She was the only one so richly
bathed in such beauty; not because
she had clothed herself in the
piece, and any lady presented in
the robe would be fascinating
enough, rather she possessed
some character so immeasurable –
so extraordinary.
The grace she contained in the
most delicate heart was no less
than that of a saviour.
The attributes which would define
her most precisely would only be
certainly not held by any other
existence in the whole mass and
extension of this undefinable
I embrace her praise, very exactly,
today with my pen and exalt her,
through all my true words, in the
littlest piece of my paper not only
because I admire her but also
because my heart keeps me from
not revealing the treasure, to the
world, which I was once fortunate
enough to be endowed with.
After all this, today is when I should
be meant to express remorse and
regression, for I lost the once-
existing most cherished gem in my
life, but what I, now, express sitting
in my chair is neither grief nor pain
for the loss; I, rather, feel my eyes
shine in the memory of everything
that happened to me in her
I know that the existence – now
gone – would never make me feel
her presence in the most sylphlike
manner; and as has her existence
faded, faded has my identity too,
also my presence does feel like
shedding. I know I won’t regress to
anything in the age which is meant
to come. But what would the world
do with an empty soul, which is only
bound to expecting the rise of the
sylph in its very own ether?
What would the world do with a life
which, now, has to live with nothing,
nor a thing to die with either?

> Aug-09-2016 [16:40] –
Sept-04-2016 [14:39]

  • image source: internet