Goodbye. Goodbye.

_{The long journey came to an end so,

In the middle of quiet tranquility,

I grieved alone

And cried just a little.

He's taken a liking to this shape as of late. Little lavender deer with a single small horn. A single branching tine from the base beneath the longer. Like the first branch of a young sapling.

He. She. It doesn't matter. He likes He more though.

Rolls off the tongue better.

He seems lost. Eyes like mirrors half lidded under lashes like the twitching legs of a spider.

Lost. He looks lost. So very lost.

A bird sings nearby. Head turns, he decides he wants wings too.

It's easy to make changes to a body that's little more than a figment of a long lost imagination.

The skin and fur at the shoulder buds, but does not break. And the lavender creature turns its head to tear at its own skin, emitting the sickening sound of tissue being shredded. It did not stop there, but went on to remove the skin encasing the second bone.

The whole world has nothing.

The afternoon sunlight grows bright,

And shines on the hill of the skylark.

Lets go together,

Choking on the smell and

Stepping on the emerald grass.

After they were no longer bound, the two bones reacted by stretching out, as if they were being shoved out by the body. The blood covering them began to turn into new skin in a quick process that took no more than a minute. These new limbs began to grow out feathers as soon as the skin was ready, long, soft feathers.

The feathers themselves were beautiful. They came out in a deep violet, only to fade into rich grays and lavenders as they began to extend over the forming cartilage that would shape the small wings. By now, they were no more than twelve inches long.

Dancing sun specks. The bird has long since gone. Leaves a lavender deer with wings all alone.

He dances through the sun beams, turned green-gold within the leaves, his laughter echoes, a shadow against the treeline. Did you even see anything?

Like a round instrument

Shaped like a fruit

You played sorrow

and joy

Childish laughter.

The wings flutter, too small to be useful. He can never fly away.

But it won't stop him from trying. Impossibility never did. Stubborn.

Hooves over grass, through rings of toadstools. As if He were a fairy. But alas, He is not. And He never will be.

A shadow against the light, for a moment, it as if all of time has frozen. But only for an instant.

Time never stills for long.

Something wonderful

Is surely here.

I sing a song of happiness.

I sing a song of sorrow

On lean legs does He dance to the end of the world. And, spreading broken wings.

He tosses himself from the edge of eternity.

The very epitome of ephemerality.}