I think I can paint this world for you now. From decadence and disorderly life to death and blank slates. Something I own, expressed dearfully to you as if I have always owned it. Perhaps remembered by no one in the end, but for now, maybe even just a glimpse of light from the murk and more, just to prove it can exist. even if it fades within the hour.

Sincerly,
       Rosier.

Dear Death,

Silent and charcoal sky, chaos, ordered in the placement of stars. Our souls hardly a handsbreadth apart. I swear my soul talks with yours when our bodies are close. 


Remember when you hadn't grown yet? When bliss was more than constantly flaunted carnal pleasure. Remember the bliss of falling? Of fighting with all your might and losing, reviling in the tiniest crumbs of strength gained while breathing the dust of defeat. Of eating hungrily after lots of running and jumping. Of solely trusting and believing in two humans alone. 


I had forgotten, I'm sorry it took me so long to grow up. 


Romanticized Regret.