The light chipped before it ever reached the deceptively flat ground. This prolonged harmony recited by the orchestra our bloomed love in which the jubilant symphony turned melancholic in just a beat. What frequency must I be tuned to pluck the string so I may produce a rather melodious overtone?
I've played this game not based on chance or randomness and God never play dice, but the implication it gave was that the spectators had the final call, thus being the trophy bearer. They would shout jubilantly while myself, along with Mr. Hyde will only be cast out into the field where hyenas will laugh and quarrel with the vultures.
But you were stoic in front these many impressions. A million eyes forming shrouds yet you still are adamant with your altruism. You always chose to work pro-bono, yet the two-horned statue may have altered your path for just a while and you would thank Graham Bell's invention to lead you back.
How ever unfortunate my wretched being may be, yet you could still the orb inside this chasm, and that is what I loved about you. Always brightening up the darkness and I believed Tartarus wouldn't be as torturing if your presence was in sight.
Presently, it's grasping these uncluttered recollection of pieces written by the orchestra that makes me feeble and wishing you are here to play these last composition. Written by you and me. The last note is practiced before the curtain is drawn.
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