You came in to erase all the bad magical thoughts that strived in me as I hopped onstage.
My song was about a girl who died in her lover´s golden arms. It was about the disintegration of flowers and everything alive. And I was the flower myself, standing proud with my multicolor petals and femininity out in the open, waiting for you to devour me.
Patiently, as my blossoming corollas stood by in awe, you approached me carrying your little wizard powders and elixirs. You had your whole performance planned out: how to conquer me and whistle old tunes in my delicate ears, how to woo me, cleanse me and nurture me.
I stood in fear and anticipation wondering if you would be able to make my dreams come true. I was a plant who wanted to fly.
But you came in the company of your collection of fathoms and ghosts, warning me about the temperature of love, shaking me, bewildering me.
I quivered as I realized that, one day, somehow, I would die in your arms myself. I could weave my tears into the future in a minute, and almost taste it. My futuristic puppy love, my muse, my psychedelic trip to nowhere land.
