…This is my life, where there is a ship, but the steering is in someone else's hands. I am definitely there, without a subtle movement yet my inaction helplessly freezes me.
In this little pirate ship of my life, there are a number of people. Most of them who matter, the others just consuming the corner. I stand beside the anchor of this ship.
The dearest person who no longer remains, yet is there for my sake.
We are all the same people in somewhat ways. We laugh, we cry, we get angry and sometimes we are just tired. There is a single human heart, the one which stands utter purity. It has no enemies. Yet, we beings, for a reason, leave out our own people. We discriminate among our own in the smallest gestures possible.
Frankly, I am worn out of it. Just like a woolen winter sweater which has been rugged by fierce running water multiple times, I am tired.
There is my ship with the people of my own. I do not discriminate, yet for a reason, which I could never guess, they do it to me. Sometimes I'm led to wonder if my existence was my own fault. Who, exactly, made me the villainess of this story? And, why– Why in the world I am not steering my own boat.
So, hello. This is my story. I'm Wyenter Wynn Woods. A woman with wilted red roses. I adore the art of movement. What fascinates me the most are the servings of sweets. Although, now, I'm starting to hate them..
My life began as a member of the Wood family, a prestigious royalty. I have been submitted to fulfill the crown princesses position even before I had been born. Of course, then, I was brought up in the palace. Although, we have an estate of our own, a very beautiful one as the matter of fact, but for martial purposes, my request to live back in that home was declined.
I got to see the crown prince often from that point of time. He, who had hairs which reflect its dazz with the sunlight and shine like pure gold. He, who had committed to thy kingdom and he, who was to be my dearest.
But…it is all the past now. Now, nothing remained unexchanged.
Sometimes in the fatal life of a being, the tides which flow in are just too high. Within those hoarse clouds in the stormy night, we tend to sink. Drown, oneself to the intensity of cold water. My dress, ah, the usual gown, was the heaviest in that cold water, that is why, maybe, I drowned the most and nobody came to save.
Not that I am sorrowed for it.
…