When I look at your blog nowadays the first thing I see is the word "mourn." It's words like that which most people escape from, but I like to escape straight into them.

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Aderyn and Drystan dug Fayber's grave right at the oak tree. "It should not be the job of two teenagers," thought Aderyn, "to throw a grown man into a ditch." Aderyn knelt down heavily onto the soft earth, bending over Fayber's body to get a grip on his tunic. A crumpled note slid out of his pocket, and its side landed on the dirt, cocked against Fayber's side. Drystan ran over to snatch it up, and Aderyn ran to look over his shoulder as he read it:

"You mourn for wasted lives. A life well spent should be celebrated. The key to the liquor chest is under the rug."

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I wish every word could be packaged and ribboned
And sent up to heaven in a hot air balloon.
I wish I could find her and tell her I love her
And thank her for bringing such beauty to me.
I wish I could build our Republic around us
And construct a kingdom as bold as the night.

I'll let you in my head where I'll
Take all your armor off as we
Dance with our bodies awake while we
Leave our minds asleep.

And we'll dance to the flowers and the birds and the sunsets
We'll live for the autumns and drink to the evenings
And I'll let you lift me to where the demons can't reach us
To a spire in heaven where we can be alone together.