❝ meet me at our favorite cherry tree. ❞ [ :'D ]
moonlight does not falter within the forest. trees drink in their share of this heavenly elixir born from this humble, mute light ( the moon is a friend ; a shelter ). she is worn — weary, neither awake nor asleep. it is a state of lucid dreaming which renders her pensive & washes away dry roots, that churns the riverway & brews near the babbling brook. dreams linger long past slumber for they root themselves behind her eyes, they remind her of what it is to burn so silently, to be no more than a ghost. she is so very tired & yet she presses on, she does not realise what weakness still writhes inside her like shoalwater.
it hurts until it does not, until the ache in her bosom has long since vanished, past her spine & yonder. however there are times when she believes it will always exist until the very sinews of her soul are spent. until the sun itself collapses & is spun into oblivion. the mirror shatters. the wolf does not sing — not anymore.
meet me at our favorite cherry tree, said the moon.
& the sun remembers, the sun smiles.
dear lunafreya, will you remember me fondly ? will i escape your dreams one day ? will you let me go ?
now is not the time for such thoughts, not when the blossoms have yet to flourish ‘neath springs sweet balm. her eyes are kind as they gaze upward to meet another, to bask in the scent of sylleblossoms which bloomed atop the hillsides of lunafreya’s home. their petals are akin to twilight & their mistress wears them like a crown.
what a gentle queen you are, o ‘ god-caller. you have mended my fears with your promise, with your song again.
❛ to send my deepest prayers to you, i shall sing for you this day. ❜