Will my garden ever be picked with such delicate hands?
Ones that graze over blush-pink petals as the stem crumbles at its roots with such contentment. Yet to have ever experienced this array of intimacy is expected.
I wish it to be a new dimension completely consisted of lush gardens and plants emerging through the soil of the earth with innocence. Inside beholds its species. Lilies, roses, violets. Violets vibrantly visible, from the elegant gateway too sophisticated for the common presence of man. Visible from across but
disconnected from the population. A large figure walks towards them at a fast pace, unhumanlike, quickly tearing them from their own home as if violets were weeds. The being turns his neck distraughtly simply staring at the last violet in existence. Let’s see how many hearts will die tonight.
– The thought that leaves and enters my brain begins with “are” and ends with “monster”