༺Masterpiece༻

VIII :: Mon Amour

"Mon Amour,
The hand on the clock ticks and ticks
As we grow old, full of sleep.
But, Mon Amour,
As it moves on, I write you an epistle,
A book.
For that time when all that I remember,
Are those cherry red lips
And those oceanic eyes
That had once a keen look,
And their shadows so deep.

How many hadn't loved your moments of glad grace?
Or your beauty with love false or true?
But, Mon Amour,
A man who altered to a pilgrim of souls,
Pure like you.
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

Would bend down beside the glowing bars,
And wait for the time that worked
It's way out to reach
Upon the mountains overhead
And count on for you in the crowd of stars,

Mon Amour, the clock ticks
As time flows by and we grow old,
Full of sleep.
But, Mon Amour,
Reach out for no one,
Your find me still."

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

"What are those? How are they formed? Why are they formed?"

A child is said to be the most innocent creation of the world. Innocence is basically a word that you can only apply to children and young teenagers who don't have a clue about the world. They believe that everything will turn out right no matter what you do and no matter what happens to them, they are happy. If a parent dies, they are sad for a while, but then they believe that the person that is gone watches over them and is happy all of the time, so the child slowly heals and thinks that the world is a bunch of roses again.

But aren't the explanations of the adult world irrational and only a lie? Doesn't that mean we all grow up with lies?

"Those are stars, my love." Beyond the manmade and commercial scents of pumpkin spice and apple pie, autumn has its own, much more natural smell. The musty, earthy smell of dying and decomposing leaves blended with wet earth and maybe a bit of smoke from burning leaves, under the clear sky. It was a memory she held onto in her heart.

"Where are stars?" Her daughter, barely some years old, danced on her own melody as she walked along the narrow path.

"They're very far from us, love. They're beyond the sky."

"Are they like ' Twinkle twinkle little star' that we read?" The child's innocent eyes looked up at her mother's blooming young face. How old would she be? In her early twenties, maybe. That's how old she looked.

"Yes, love, they're like Twinkle twinkle little star."

"Can I hold them?"

"No, love. They're very far."

"How far?"

"Not as far. Let me jump and try to get one." Raising her limbs, she jumped to touch the sky. Such a petty and dumb attempt. How would a human touch the sky? Could they? What a lie!

"Your hands don't reach them, mama." She collapsed on the rough land, failing in her attempt to touch the sky.

"I think they're very far from us. I couldn't touch them." Her daughter had hugged her tight. Afterall, she was all that the child knew as hers.