she is mine, she is always mine.

I stand in a vast field of short yellowing grass on a raised pillar of white marble.

She is beautiful a voice says.

My hearts cracks a little.

She is my love.

A tear escapes.

She is mine.

I collapse.

  Flood waters break open and rush into the field, falling from my eyes. The sky shatters open and more waters fall from the heavens. The waters wash through the field washing the ground of everything. Then, all at once, the water ceases to come. It sinks slowly into the ground and I stand, looking at a muddy field – wrecked by the storm.

 A few days later a green shoot emerges. Another few days and there are three. One year later and I stand on a raised pillar of stunning white marble wider than before. The air is sweet and moist. The field before me is full of lush green grass rustling in the wind.

She is always mine.


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