you came to me first in veils.

swathed in bandages, i had no idea

of the truth that lay beneath, hidden.

 

it was my birthday.

 

you offered me a gift; a tiny piece

of verdant virulent life, of the Wyrd

with which you had such affinity

over which you had so much control

 

oh rapture, rapture, so sweet and cruel

the depths of your red eyes, two and four 

but how, how could I not look in one 

and see the Glory the other could have?

 

how could I not want you more?

 

a thousand times i have replayed

the time that you reached for me.

i turned away; ashamed of my feelings.

what then, if i had kindled?

 

but i was never enough for you; mortal,

shackled by emotion and all of the things

that you would never have me shed.

 

i was never yours - but with my other gone,

how could i help but feel that you were mine?

 

too little, too late.

 

there was nothing left to temper you.

i cannot blame you, really, for wanting more.

i cannot blame you for your madness.

 

but i remember the white before my eyes

when you struck at my very soul

and rent tears in it with my heart.

 

he was gone, and i was alone.

 

that was when the world began to crumble

and i stood frozen, watching

as the world tore you apart.

i cannot blame you - but it was your own doing.

 

i still wake with your fire on my lips

heliotrope in my blood, the last piece

of shadowfire in this world.

 

oh, how i miss you.