Seraphina Kit Ding | 2026
I watched you depart in that torment. Seraphina, my wound, My heart is trapped in the breeze of your abrupt departing. Perhaps I am foolish for basking in a moon with such a tainted glow, or perhaps I am foolish to set ablaze my garden. I long for you, eternally, and my heart will forever stay true, to its vow of never parting. Oh, how I long for your warmth. Seraphina, my machiavellian muse, This artifice is a fiendish amusement– How I find myself desiring you once more, not for you, but for your memory. I still reminisce of your light and the breathtaking stars scattered in your gray eyes. The same illusory gray eyes that lit the moon. The same moon which has begun shattering in my own vision. Seraphina, my tainted mirage, Surely, you have placed me in a trance. I lust for your light, yet I detest you, You shift my musings like the true phony cosmic you embody. Puppeting my rumination like how the luna pulls and pushes the glistening, crying tide.
Seraphina, my beloved, I reached out to brush my fingers against the endless vast of stars in your eyes. You’re like the night, alluring and beautiful, boundless, beckoning me to lose myself. The superficial moon was refulgent against your pale skin– a strange, abnormal radiance, but yet I swore to forever remain alongside you. Seraphina my cynic, How deceptive must you be? My wistful eyes watched as you departed– Not just from me, but from yourself. The moon eroded from its synthetic glow; You’ve annihilated my reveries, yet the roses you nurtured still remained, stuck in my eyes. They grew thorns, thorns that heightened the obscurity.
Seraphina, my enigma The dark air never seems to depart, but I’ve grown quite accustomed to it. Though my heart has molded, tainted, stiffened all throughout– It seems to thaw under the sun, the warm sun of your essence. I’ve yet to gaze upon your soul, but your aura is an endearing veil, one that I yearn for more of.
Seraphina, my dear, I long to bask within your light,
to pacify the aftermath of my tempests. With each rising my ardor flourishes, and perhaps this once, I will allow myself to become enamored. Though the flowers are yet to bloom, You, only you, are the shower of light
to shine upon my thorns and make bloom of roses.
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