i feel so estranged by your secrecy and i do not understand why there are things i am not made aware of. even your presence is as rare as your kind words for me. privileges that you cannot deservingly attribute to me by choice. i am resigned into this isolation and into the melancholy to which it is akin, not so long ago but for the longest time it seems. i must have made some great sin for which this very damnation must be inflicted upon me by your hand, your mind, and your heart. hope has no meaning where redemption does not exist. existence is such an amusing state. you live, and i exist beneath the shadows of a different light that never treads your path. this would have been more bearable if i could at least hear you breathe. atonement has no worth, not even precious tears, and the universe seems to conspire with you in being deaf and numb to my pleas. send me a redeemer, a savior i ask, to save myself from you, but the sky sends no rain nor angel to whose arms i could fall and lay my head. my fever burns and i could feel the heat with every droplet that roll down my cheeks. i am innundated with so much folly for you alone, the dam has burst out of a terrible neccessity. grace me simply with your mercy if not your sympathy or your affection, a lowly subject asks her prideful king. it must be a crime to be your friend but she does not know that. i am convicted of a crime never made known to me. cut your ties from me and that shall be my final request. this way i can never feel your hand upon my back, never hear your voice whispher sweetly into my ear, nor can i ever peer into your soul through your eyes. never to feel that we are one, nor share our lives as we do the sun. you never really knew the greatest of my torments, ah but you are a king and not a sage. do this for me now, swiftly, let me bleed. let my blood foretell the end of our little tale. you must be tired of this by now. i know i am.

there are things i may never ever fathom, like how i could not even be made to fall in love with your mystery.