There are multiple timelines running through this grin. However the threads and streams of the kleptomaniac tribulations get tangled in just one solution – the ghosts that haunt me at night.
I close my eyes, and I see a temptress dancing in front of feathers of lust, and you connive as you see me, expecting me to conspire in your favor. I can deny you my gifts, I can deny you my vocabulary in spite of our story, but you’ve earned something tonight, and it’s more than just mere sympathy.
How am I supposed to save you, if you want to die?
Either you’re too special or I just don’t know you enough. The far end of this relationship is based in a lie, this fantasy I’ve been kneeling after is just a product of the pain you’ve caused. I can’t change the past, I can’t speak to destiny, but I can tell you in how many ways you’ve changed me.
The world where I come from is throbbing with cowardice and deceit, and I’m trying so hard to get my head away from its pull. But I came to know you, and you seem like you could fit perfectly in that world, yet your mask makes you look so beautiful. No Galisova, I can’t imagine you without that dress. I’m not like that.
But nobody knows the world I’m from, I don’t think it exists in the measurements of this hypothesis. I’ll just leave the scriptures here.