He rests there. Somewhere between her mind and her heart.
Like a ghost, floating and simpering in the eaves of a willow tree.
Far lost to his queen, his own body, caught between worlds.
To cast aside; Crowning Glory. The wind at your back, and the trees singing their praises high up in the mountains.
He laid it all at her feet, begging for a new life of retribution deep in the forest.
But this was not her adventure to lead, and not her land to claim.
To Rule is to have divine power, which comes from the earth and from the heavens.
It can be granted and then shut down. If we are only slaves to our devices, our vices.
And we want to rule them, seize control over our madness.
She watches him. Tipping and teetering. Looking over the edge of the boat into the darkest of waters, if only the spray of the cold ocean could wake him.
A second time, (in another lifetime?) she saved him, from the nuances of self destruction and denial.
What was left after the storm passed, was this small gap between them. An impasse.
She reaches out; but only just slightly, with tenderness
The pain of missing him never ceasing.
– still, at her quietest moments; he is there, waiting, watching. Listening to her thoughts in the wind.