I sat high on my perch, surveying the worlds that the others created on the land. A world of many different sufferings and fairytale dreams. My world was formed high above the clouds where no one could reach unless I took them with. As I did with the angel who I fell deeply in love with. My beautiful seashell was everything to me. It hurt if we were apart. Her health was harming her, and I tried to help her as best as being seperated by miles and miles of land would allow. But with a screen between you, it is hard to really accomplish anything. She heard of a medicinal plant that a boy was handing out in secret. But like many a beautiful flower in a garden, she fell victim to the Weed. If the gardener isn't allowed to know the Weed is around, the Weed is a fugitive of the law, unless you are otherwise told by the master gardener. And not a fugitive like the caring Witch Salmholfer, whose children were taken from her by an agonized couple. A fugitive like the men of Pere Noel, a criminal in the night who shall rape and murder you when your back is turned. Why couldn't she see the fear that I spoke? Why did it blind her? I told her I didn't give a damn about the Weed taking refuge in my garden so long as I had my flower. But the flower decided that I didn't give a damn about the garden period, so she let her seeds drift into the sunset, with those immortal words: "Fine. I'm through. WE'RE through. FOREVER." Now my nicknames haunt me. Out of Lego, I have sculpted her. Red Rum stains my lips and being. My Goldeneye can no longer detect the beauty in life. I am Twitchier than ever, my body shaken with sobs and whatever emotion I have yet to hide, as to any man it would give myself away to the Invader that wants to free my heart from pain. Loyalty and happiness fade away, giving heed to the Ferality with in what remains of the empty shell. I have lived in my own Hell for years, and no one is coming to save me. And yet... yet I try to save everyone from their's. A girl who believes she's bad at this past-time called writing. A girl who feels she has already lost the game called "life." A friend who thinks herself worthless, her only friend being the blade called Knife. One who has slept in too many beds to count. My sister, who lives in the same Hell I do. And my beautiful seashell, who asked the Weed to aid her in her time of need. But the affects of His magic shallnot make things better. The cracks on her surface are less painful now, but one day those cracks will give way. Then she shall see what I meant. The one who would love me no matter what has left me, but I still cling to just the memory of her, as much as it may hurt, because all three of us know better than to let go of the one I love. I will never let go. One day... one day she might come back for me, and I shall never let that dream go. I don't care what haters say, I know what is wrong, and I know how to fix it. But they dont listen. I am only allowed to wear my Guy Fawkes mask, not my actual face. Whatever is wrong in my head doesn't exist. Not to my family, not to my friends, and most likely not to you, dear reader. The lamest Valentine I have ever heard is "If I were a zombie, I'd totally eat your brains first." Well, I might not be rotting on the outside, but what is left of me inside is in a state of decay. My only friends are the Rum in my flask and the blade named Katana on my belt. I am a freak. A freak who might never return to his old self. And though I am not a voracious brain-eater, until I have the love of my life back, I am the walking dead. Void of feeling, void of emotion, ever-wandering in search of what I long for. And to that girl, I say I'm sorry, and I love you, no matter what. I dont care how much you disowned me, or how much you might hate me, but I'll be here for you, no matter how much of Heartless is lost. If you were here now, I'd be hugging you tight and trying to make you feel better. But since we can only talk on emails and texts and phone calls, I have one thing to say: i <3 u, my seashell -+-+{@