Once upon a time, in a land far away, plagued by deep, dank bogs, greedy dragons, a misunderstood race of witches, talking rivers, and people who didn’t even know the gross national product of Bangladesh, there lived a fair maiden tormented by loneliness and a wizards curse. The curse of loneliness can only be broken by the use of thirteen magical words.
The darkness plagues her like the memory of a lovers caress when his essence has faded from your presence like a hangover from an empty vodka bottle, sorrows surfaced,never fully drowned.you are not like your father, who takes vodka in his morning coffee and rants alone to no one. You are not like your father, you tell the empty bed every morning when the dawn rises, destined to be alone. You are not your memories of pain. Thirteen magical words, you whisper to no one in particular. You remember his lips on your neck and his fingers in your hair and his russet eyes like molten pools with hazel spun like stars.