Whenever I see him holding hands with his duchess, my mistress's heart jumps in my throat.
What is, and what is not will never be.
He said he will be mine in the morrow, but it will never be.
I dance with him till the sun sets and the obtuse moon rises.
He strokes my chin as he delicately kisses my cherry lips, his taste like an array of sugar plums and sweet musky wine.
He is so sweet and kind to me.
His hand held in mine, should be forbidden.
He the Pisces, I the Capricorn.
She, the Virgo.
Her, the duchess, speaks softly in his ear.
He smiles with excitement and eagerness.
They both wave their arms enthusiastically to the crowd of citizens cheering them on.
My heart
b
r
e
a
k
s
into millions of pieces.
What is, will never be...
