How do you do these day, dearest beloved?
How do you feel? Are you tired from the stressful work? Are you bored as you look out that window? I really want to know.
Dearly beloved, you are a main character, a protagonist in a story that known as life. My life.
I'm naught but a side character, whose presence only serve as the highlight of your story. I missed you. I so missed you.
These days have been relatively uneventful, yet there is a nagging feeling that roam about, and soon I found myself staring upon the album with all your expression and smiles within. Looking upon these, I find myself reminiscent of the old days when I have your attention, when I had you by my side, if only for a brief moment.
Dearly beloved, you are a Goddess, you are a deity of love.
I shall tell you of a plan, I shall tell you of a dedication, I shall tell you of a offering like days of old. Why do things happen, because Gods made them happen, because you are my idol of worship, I will dedicate these sacrifices unto you, dearly beloved.
Is it evil? Maybe, maybe this is an act of evil and of most cruel, but I think that in the grander scheme of things, who among the broken soul have the courage to damn themselves in the name of love?
Am I mad? Perhaps, but who can say that one can remain sane in presence of lost love? Insanity is common thing, who can say that one are sane when the world feel so insane? Perhaps I am mad, but then how could I be mad? Mad people do not know that they are mad, but they are getting saner. So Am I Mad or the world is mad? If the world is mad, then I must be sane. If I am sane then the truth is that are no physical world, but merely senses data that complied into experiences.
Should I ever descend unto the maw of hell for my sins, it would do me wonders if I could have you as my torturer, for nothing would make me more glad than such thing. In perspective, if hell consist only of you, my dear 33, it would be heavenly place.
Nonetheless, because this is merely madness, because the world is not real, because the world is an illusion.
I offer this poem in honor of you, my dearly beloved 33
"Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice
Let's hear the celebration voice
Asked in wonder, Asked in fright
For now is the end of the night
A beginning is anew at last, you can surely tell
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice
Of the horseman of first
Let's hear the funeral's bell
My dearest love, My hated love
You can now dance and sing with joy
For now your troubles, your problems can no longer raised its voice
Rotting beneath and among the dead
In this place of starry sky, with a bottle of wine in hand
And sword of bone grasp in my hand
I cursed you so, I cursed you well
I cursed your soul, I cursed your bone
I cursed your flesh; I cursed thy spirit with my last breath
Listen well, my hated and dearly love one, lend thy ear to the sound of death
I haunt from beyond the to haunt and to craves
Time will pass and cities will fall
But I will be there to watch you like a waterfall
In darkness, in void, in mist and in fog
For every misfortune, for every snares
For every death, and for every fear
You can be sure that I will be near
I will be there in thy shadow
Beneath the light and behind every corner
You'll be in my care
For I will watch as you fare
I give you my curses, I give you my misery
I give you my pain, I give you my agony
I give you my madness, I give you my suffering
My dearest 33"