An old man sits back, leaning against the cracked wall. The concrete reflects him more than anyone could realize; it was hard, it was ruining, it was unforgiving. He blinks slowly at the blinding sunrise. His face was gaunt, wrinkled, and embittered with knowledge.

He was sitting, waiting for his fate.

The time had come for his destiny to catch up with him - far too long he had let it lie patiently for him, its tendrils following his heels in the shadow of the long afternoon.

The time had come, and he was not scared.

He was ready.

Don’t you want to feel my bones?

Supposedly in check, the Happy Prince reels in his weary façade, seeking a blissful moment away from the reality of his mundane existence. He persists, as he always will, not for the virtues of the perseverance but for the culmination of his efforts. He cares not for these actions themselves; he knows one day he will fly and leave the scattered remains of this torturous routine far behind him. He will go to a place where he will be whole again, where he will thrive in a world not covered in the ash and dust of the dead but that basks in the peaceful kiss of sublimity, and he will turn into light.

He remembers this every time he looks into those inescapable eyes…

Against your bones…

I just pulled an eyelash off my eyeball...

I wish I had picked up my paycheck today... Just so that I knew exactly how much money I'd be spending at ComiCon. AH. IT'S HAPPENING.

Now... To ensure my Half-Blood Princeness... Oh you pretty things!

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If ever you wished to be entertained as the Romans, this is for you! It's actually pretty cute...

My arrogance is only as shallow as the rest of me, and yet the enchantment of diagnosing and delineating reality and its philosophy to such an inane megalomaniac as I is absolutely irresistible. I notice I am called upon only when my services are needed and the skills of more desirable persons are notoriously inept in comparison with my lengthy perfect record. I understand the deliciously awkward experience it is to cooperate with me and my rather eccentric methods and expansive range of simply dealing; I understand that it is for my usefulness that I must be called upon for. No one wants an undertaker, but there will always be need for one.

And so, I hope that my presence was reassuring. I give you this; a song to say good-bye. May angels bring you in.

Once this grief has left you and you have finished mourning that which is now better off we shall finally separate; I would very much like us to sever this simple truce and to be back on my way- set on a path fraught only with the many pursuits of philosophical romances of ornate perfection.


And now, to a warm place…