#empireofashes

the library is dusty with all the books and memories insideyou drink your wine from the islands as you read a book with the same colored coverthe thirst is bearable but not quite a victory’cause you’re the drunk one, but i’m the one who looks happierthe clock is ticking, a door is opening somewhere in the castle“i brought you flowers,” you say, the crown on your head disappears for a split…

the crackle of the fireplace can be heard in the large roomdespite the quiet atmosphere, your hands look anxious as you write, write and writea smile creeps to general’s face“is everything politics for you, your highness?” he asks, even love? i add“yes,” you answer simply and your hands stop for a secondtwo glorious holes burn down my entire beingeven love.…the river is flowing a bit soundly in…

the afternoon sun is leaving its traces on the old paintings in the hallthe walls look a bit less intimidate, a bit more understandable with them“this looks a bit lonely,” you say, it’s Opheliathere she lies, with flowers and water surrounding her bodyshe looks kind of empty, for someone who’s going to die in such place“it’s supposed to, your highness.” i answer, maybe it’s the way she lays…

your dress is incredibly white among other souls with borrowed shirts and fancy clothsyet, it’s so familiar that i can almost taste the skin touching the silky materiallike i did a million times beforeunder a certain maple tree, behind the metal doors, on your well made bedyour dance partners come and go rather quickly tonighta colorful crowd is moving with the same sense of rhythmno one is…

the moon doesn’t stop following us until we’re back at your roomthis time it’s not the only source of light around usbut it’s still therewatching and reflecting the sun on the sheetsits job being similar to mine, i leave a kiss right between your eyes and nowi’m sure the sun is delightedto know that it can shine not only during the day but during the night too“i want to see,” you say and i close…

i hold my breath when the footsteps come closer to the wooden doora silent prayer falls from your lipsit sounded breathy, feigned and a bit mischievousbut it workedfootsteps fade into the night and nowthe only sound behind the door belongs to the crickets in the gardeni suck in a breath“what a night,” you whisper, your voice closer than ever“indeed,” i whisper back and send another prayer to the…

“it’s too hot,” you say, but you’re facing towards the suni always thought thatsummers between these stone cold walls should have felt cooler than anything“maybe up there,” i point a random tree between a thousand“is cooler, your highness.”your eyes find mine and we both know it nowi always thought thatold trees should have old roots too, like old friends“would you go there with me?” you ask but…