9 in the morning, first thing my eyes had depicted was the presence of a blurry, yet, bewitching tawny Butterfly.

“It’s not brown, it’s tawny!,” was the first argument I had with John, I think you still remember John.

As I contemplated the woozy movements of this small creature, the picture became clearer; along with the realization that I have more important things to do.

“What’s the time?,” I hastily jumped out of my place.

“ you’re late...is the time,” John said in a soliloquy.

11:14, still late. In the jurisdiction i was. It was an old building, the walls were like the people they had sheltered, pale enough not to exist.

I was still contemplating, I always do, but this time, it was you! Your skittish movements, your flushed appearance. Your apparent nervousness.

Just like a chess opening, you waving at me was an expected move. By breaking John’s word, I marched towards your seat. It was you, No one else. In this masquerade you were a person with no disguise.

John glances at my watch, he realizes that I’m late. I glance at you “No, I’m on time,” I say in a soliloquy.

Death is an end to the dichotomy of a meaningful,humdrum existence.

It has a scent of a crumbled Broadway stage.

A stage that carried Othello along with his jealousy, hamlet and his vengeance, Antigone and her determination, Prometheus with his free will, Not to mention, Nina ( Black swan) and her paranoia.

A scent of an abandoned cabin, That carries the smell of some superfluous memories and the moisture inside the the house’s Oak wood.

The grim reaper along with his dim gray outfit, comes as the pesky tick-tock that we all consciously set but never predict.

Death does have a message.

“ don’t avoid me, I’m the only inevitable fact

I’m your salvation.”

For every word I wrote to you, here’s the one you needed the most “ sorry” .

An apology has always been a pride crusher for a man boasting on his heavy thrown, reason why his feelings never reflected remorse or sympathy.

Such a heavy crown my pride had to wear. such a miserable, deceptive life it ended up leading. For that Words weight more than gold, I selected rusty ones for you. Yes I lied, yes my love was a gilded metal, but you blindly traded it with everything you owned. A ruthless king I was. I served you poison in a silver glass, yet, you called it pleasure even when you knew the pain would last.

tales told no king bow down

The king would never frown.

But as you vanished from the crowd, the king has lost his golden crown

In his letters to you and to his heart, “Sorry” is all He had written down.