Where's the fun in being blind? Heightened senses do nothing to aid in fixing that which can't be seen.
There is no storybook, fairy-tale ending. There is no distinction between truth and lies, reality and fantasy. There is only what we know: what we see, hear, breathe, live.
Is it possible to alter the very thing you live for without throwing yourself into the eager, greedy hands of your memories? Of your past?
It's just two of us now. Do you even remember our names? Our faces? Do you hear our voices when you close your eyes? No. Of course not. We were never that important to you anyway. I, who lived for you, was never that important.
But it's just two of us now: the tainted angel and tattered saviour. You have no place here anymore, Deceiver. You, who I love so deeply, who I tried so hard for. The more time that passes, the more I realize what I've been so blind to all along.
You've already let me go.
You don't need to lie anymore. Promises will be ignored; you've never kept them, anyway. Why use such strong words when they mean nothing to you? Both on the giving and receiving end, you're nothing more than a lost, heartless, black-winged angel with nothing but an intricate web of stained silk thread to offer. What once was revered as perfect is now nothing more than the shattered image.
Where are you, Ghost?
Who will piece you back together when the one thing you need most desperately is someone to pull you from the cold, dark sea? It's only as deep as you let it be; that endless void in your mind. The memories on as vivid, the senses only as sharp, the desires only as strong, the emotions only as felt as you let them be.
I hope one day you might find someone that looks up to you and loves you as much as I once did.
I'll let you go.
As much as it pains me to do so, I'll let you go.
It's okay. I think you want it that way.