Wine Is Bottled Poetry, He Thinks.

I Saw In Details While She Saw In Scope. Not Seeing The Scope Is Why I Am Here And She Is Not. I Took Each Element Spearately And Never Looked To See That They Never Did Fit Together Properly

Everything I Have Done, Every Change I Have Made To That Circus, Every Impossible Feat And Astounding Sight, I Have Done For Her.

It’s Said That All Hallows’ Eve Is One Of The Nights When The Veil Between The Worlds Is Thin - And Whether You Believe In Such Things Or Not, Those Roaming Spirits Probably Believe In You, Or At Least Acknowledge Your Existence, Considering That It Used To Be Their Own. Even The Air Feels Different On Halloween, Autumn-crisp And Bright.

All Empires Fall Eventually. It Is The Way Of Things.

The Funeral Is A Quiet One, Despite The Number Of Mourners Present. There Are No Sobs Or Flailing Handkerchiefs. There Is A Smattering Of Color Amongst The Sea Of Traditional Black. Even The Light Rain Cannot Push It Down Into The Realms Of Despair. It Rests Instead In A Space Of Thoughtful Melancholy.