Young and of spritely nature, you are now aware of the existence of a milk-skinned maiden, clad in the armor of spring’s flourish.
important words, words that leave the ever-abstruse machinations of time jittering and unsure, escape with tense surety.
as important as the works of the heart of echo herself, and less taciturn, perhaps.
though i am useless
love me anyway
and this sadness is what love is –
though we retire to clover fields
chastise me for meandering too often
and this joy is what love is –
my brother, allow just this of a soul perhaps too tempted to stare ahead blithely –
enjoy all of this. always remember every single thing.