Discarded

He gazed upon her viciousness, her purity.
He knew. Disrobed, followed her silhouette in the failing light.
No choice; he knew. Where the world began, it ended.
This was its end. His end.
In a universe of possibilities, dedication, obligation, duty…
But those eyes…
He did not make haste; did not want to frighten her with his hunger.
Only one thing mattered, but she mustn’t know it.
To be a slave…though willing, easily discarded.
But he had been a slave, slave to the world, his ego, his people…
A hero among men, braver than most, decisive and dedicated.
Revered and worshipped, but everything…nothing…
It all amounted to nothing.
Appearing in a moment, but a moment was enough.
Enough to burn the effigies to the ground; liquidate illusion.
Or reality? Was he trading illusion for illusion?
Inconsequential. She would be his. She must be…
But he knew. She belonged to no one. Especially him.
It mattered not…he would follow.


I imagine a knight who has fallen under the spell of a forest nymph,
and left behind his life to be with her. You always hear stories of
people giving up true love for more important things, and they are
heroes for it. But love makes makes heroes out of lesser men,
and weaklings out of heroes. This to me is a more realistic scenario:
he gave up his knighthood to follow his heart. What is heroism when
compared to true love? What is he fighting for anyway? Now he has
true purpose.
This is my interpretation; feel free to make your own!

OpenCanvas
Wacom Tablet
Boards of Canada & The Lost Highway Soundtrack
Wishful thinking and a dash of despair