In a perfect world, I, the black-maned ghost of all that’s bad I have left behind; I, the grim reaper, the harbinger of a thousand tears wouldn’t be sitting on these cold marble steps alone. My back against the glass of a thousand reflections looks hunched and fragile as if the weight of the world somehow manages to encompass the recent sorrow that life, oh, generously brought upon my shaded doorstep.
The sky continues to weep, a sickly shade of grey slowly killing her clear blue. The view which once made me feel ‘infinite’ seems to be shrinking, just like my future...
My coal-black hood is drenched with the tears of the departed. Many a times, with scythe in hand I have stood by and watched as the life drained from their sorrowful human eyes and yet when my dark eyes spilled into your azure blue all I could do was stand still and stare. Decades of old powerful magic broke, time came to a standstill and an intense warmth coursed through my veins. For the first time in my immortal life, I heard my heart beat.
In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be sitting on those cold steps alone praying for death to be kind. Your warmth has long left me, my charred soul lay proof for thee to adore. But don’t worry my heart remains untouched by your thousand fires. It’s always cold here but not the hateful kind though. Snow white angels dance through the winter landscape, the sun occasionally showing his face only to recede into the growing oblivion and the moon. Oh, the sweet sweet moon! She dreams of spring, of flowers blooming. Is this what humans call love?
In a perfect world, I wouldn’t mistake my angels for demons, my eyes wouldn’t bleed water, my soul would cease to sing, my lonely hands would stop yearning for yours and my broken heart would finally stop beating, all for you. Death would be kind and I would finally be free if not happy.
In a perfect world, my heart wouldn’t have come alive, you wouldn’t have smiled and I would have just walked away the moment our eyes met.