True, what I’ve loved has now been lost.
Not buried, but scattered to the winds.
Though never touched by a hint of frost,
For mine is a love that never ends.
The stairways up to la butte
Can make the wretched sigh,
While windmill wings of the Moulin
Shelter you and I.
The stars are defiant at your fading grace.
No light, at night, deigns to fall upon this face.Be strong, be lovely, do not wane just yet.
-W
—————————————-
Charlotte lifted the flowers into her hands, pressing her lips to the blossoms, inhaling deeply.
My beloved boy,
Thank you so very much for these flowers
To keep me company by the endless hours.
Your Charlotte
(Source: lottie-dolohov)
(Source: zombies-vampires-and-fairytales)
Haunted or haunting, we are all the same.
Ghosts dance in our eyes, come alive in our name.
(Source: chiamalesevuoiemozioni)
Who shall tell what did befall,
Far away in time, when once,
Over the lifeless ball,
Hung idle stars and suns?
(Source: silentmetaphor, via andromeda-andy-black)
Charlotte was the Saint.
The Martyr.
So pure. Always clad in white.
Veil covering her hair, her face.
Her eyes always downcast, always sad.She was a supplicant for him,
Pleading his case to the gods.
The sacred relics she kept close to her heart,
Blessed by her lips,
Protected him from the evil that grew in the darkness.Late at night, he lit a candle in her name.
One for her, one for his Goddess, his queen.
And he cried to the gods for their happiness.
But he always knew that little Lottie
Was made for such sorrow.
