With a whisper of a breeze, pretend that he slips like smoke into your room at night, beneath your covers and swims up you like a river.

Those aren't your hands, you think, They're his.

"You've got the power of the elements to back you up," I think to myself, "so why not go ahead and use them to your benefit for once?" It would be something I've not done before. Like great hurricane tides, standing tall and startling behind me, with my own arms like exasperation and power at once up in the air, The power allows me to reach out to you; the exasperation is the only way I can fall (though it might be awkward) into your grasp. Every part of me reaches towarad and up to you, as if I'm lifeless and you contain every ounce of my control. I've always sent my power to the things I control, and their consequences, to another place where others and otherlings would reap the rewards.

After all, the first rule is never to use the benefits so readily available to oneself, upon oneself.

I pace the floor, now warm and worn against my cool, bare feet. I will never...forget...a...single....kiss. How each kiss was a transformation that built an empire. An empire now a palace that sits empty and still golden (I know it must, though neither of us can visit without the other) in the very center of a wooded place so incomplete as to not have a name. An unamed child as it's an unamed kingdom. Alone, it sits; Alone.

And I know what I am. And to be here, misunderstood ' trapped ' like a bird in a cage, one wing stuck and snapped behind, caught in the rusted wiring, I do know my powers. And I also know quite well ' all to well ' that I am far too broken to fly. Yet who needs to fly, when instead the brushing together of two cheeks would mean everything? Two honest people too afraid to tell the truth.

Some say that more wasn't supposed to happen because more didn't. I disagree. More didn't happen because we fell and let the fear of such a powerful love fall harder. More didn't come because we crushed the most intense stone into dust out of fear that the stone would eventually turn to dust'¦we did the dirty work ourselves, and the pain pressed against my heart from that wearisome process is so wrong as it presses sharp against body, spirit, and soul. After all, who meets a man who is the man within their own books and knows it upon the first entrance of that man's presence in the room.

That empty empire might not be so empty after all. Beings could fly around, making it their home; ivy grows up and around posts of gold in the day, trees of silver in the night. The leaves there are always silver while they wait, and they do wait, anticipating the emotions of only two who can bring light the essence, the chlorophyll. Faery wings will lighten as the burdens carried will lessen. And a home will be made. A home is waiting to be made. Yet an empire is waiting to crumble. There is the things about choice. There they are, those people...They are the outcome of choice. Not seen in photographs, their pictures don't await them upon the walls. But the colors so brilliant speak any possible words that might come from the one word known as "love."

And there is a man there, who isn't a man. The man and woman both know his name to be Anuq. And he is there to show the way. He is a romantic, because he is a believer in one thousand different forces of life. He dances in the air if he so desires. In the night he is invisible as he sees the two so far apart. He sees them both. He sees the wilderness where they belong. And in his eyes, if one is able to look up and into the intensity, can be seen astonishment at the way truth is so willingly dissolved and scattered to a wind that only wishes to spit it back out again. For this he has no sympathy, for he cannot possibly understand how such truth can be walked away from.

Perhaps she will wear toe shoes and dance soon enough to the empire before it crumbles; before the night loses its silver moonlight; before the faeries cease their beckoning. Perhap he will carry a bow and arrows and bring back with him something from a world he has so firmly decided not to cherish. So sad it will be, that their eyes having laid upon the sights, will be the only connection to a world that might well have been meant to be theirs together, had fear and stubborness not been elected by the two to rule upon the throne.

Does anyone know? Does anyone care to understand?

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