He doesn’t belong to any known eon, and he doesn’t have a place of
birth. He lost his home in a tear, back there somewhere. His existence is
not connected with time or space. He’s wandering, drifting in orbit in a
chilling silence, a dark void full with nothing. Some creatures have lost their
guardian angels; well, he’s one of them.
Carefully he looks at the end of another passing day, defaced as
much as it can be. That time of the day is always resented, a feeling which
brings out some sort of a defeat inside him, a degenerated reminder of a
helpless cry. This little prince, sad because the sun is going to sleep
somewhere in the west; a recurring feeling running away from reach, endemically
fading into a secret sorrow.
The importance of that moment can never be forgotten, that most
wanted pain which defines him is highly treasured, kept safe and secure… a pain
well nurtured with an utmost respect, ever present sweet torment.
