Piece #08: Nowonmai
Song of Influence: "The Sweetness of Death by the Obsidian Knife" - Ash, Cosmic Debris
Theme: Self hatred fills my fibers, and I grow turgid.

Once, I disliked cloudy days, perferring to bask in the rays of the sun at every opportunity.

You taught me to find love in the greyness of cloud cover, joy in the moisture that comes in with the overcast skies.

Rain. The skies that remind you of the country you love the most, where the white cliffs of Dover intermingle with the rolling green hills, green that shows up even amongst the colorless skies.

The lack of color is what I've learned to appreciate.

Darkness fills me with memories of you, of the smile you would give when delighted. Your pale skin, your body, so fragile looking that I want to hold and protect you always. You would always have a tendency to get cold, while mine was to get overly sensetive to heat. I swear to whatever is out there, if I had another chance, I would have held your cold, fragile body in my arms, telling you that I never want to let go.

I love you...

Rain falls, pouring down the roof in rivers, like liquid flowing from a slashed wrist. It soaks me to the bone, as I sit up there. It hides my tears, washes away the sadness, makes me feel as if I were by your side once again.

Remember that song, "The Sweetness of Death by the Obsidian Knife?" I remember one line from it in particular, which burned itself into my memory... which I associate with you.

The London rain will remain a memory,

locked away in a blood-red box.

Memories... that's what it all boils down to, isn't it? It is what makes us human. With them, we experience infinite joy, anger, hate, love, and sadness. Infinite sadness.

Well, you're there now, in the city of your dreams, the city of my dreams... and I wait for you day by day, treasure every letter by you like gold. Each word, written in your rounded script, I pore over, imagining the way you grip the pen as you write, worrying whether or not your callous acts up from the pressure.

I haven't eaten very much at all in weeks, my friends I have withdrawn from. I sit here, on my roof, letting the cold winter rain wash over me, thinking of you. Tears of happiness, tears of pain, all washed away by the rain.

I love you... more so than my own life. I never want to go back to what it was like before I knew you, all those years ago.

I am nothing,

...I am no one.

The sun will rise, and the tides will ever-flow.