I will never reach it, will I? Not until I reach you, but you, too, are unreachable. Am I, to you, as you are, to me? I know, but don't, until I see you again.
Stay right there, so that I can find you, but come to me; find me. Wait for me; I'm waiting for you. Meet me there, where we agreed so long ago. I will be there, and so you will be too.
The cherry blossoms are a thing to be celebrated with family and friends and food and laughter, and yet, I think I want to be alone this year. I want to sit and sip beneath the trees in reverent silence and let myself see only what She wants me to see.
Even as the cold winter air bites at my nose and nips at my fingertips, I feel fine, for my heart is warm with the fire called love.
No one is worried about the fork; they only think it's weird. They ask me about it and laugh. No one wonders about it, and that's why I have it. No one worries about the fork; after all, it's not a knife.
Sometimes you need to fight for sleep. Oftentimes you must fight against sleep. I miss my wandering storytellers; they assured me I would be living the next day and not just waiting for the next night to come.
"I will stand by you until I no longer have the ability to stand. I will bleed for you until I have no blood left to bleed. My life is yours, princess. I live to see you live. Your death will not happen without mine first. I swear it to you."