Today is not for commonalities, today is for nobility. Today is the day for a king, but I am in the courtyard where a princess was ordained.
Here in this land she had no idea was royal. Watching all of her subjects, the market people and money changers would go about their days, passing by on the Queensway to earn bread. From her palace of solitude she painted dreams of their lives; how either noble or indignant they must be. Her stories brought her closer to their mystery and yet the 6-foot black fence kept her away from their realities. One day, she would think. But with each passing day, the bell would ring and she would have to make her way back across this field and back inside herself. Her father and mother has put her among these common people, these people who are not like her. Confused from her confusion she does not realize that this is because she is royal, but she must understand the workings of these subjects, these people south of the Queensway. It's not her fault, how could she know so soon and so early that she was a princess?
How could she know so soon and so fast that she was my Queen? On that day, the first time we celebrated Kushiali, how could she recognize this dynasty I painted with my words? She has no subjects, no land of her own, no famous battles conquered. Even in these words, I forgot to mention that your royalty is not in the amount of land to your name or people who follow you. It is not in all those things out there, those kingdons are for a lower class of nobility. Your royalty is within. Within everything you say and do, within those deep eyes that used to gaze and the deep mind that was forged to a life of pondering, there on that field. Your royalty comes from the consideration and attention you pay to your loved ones, from the words you say when you cannot take action and the action you take when words escape you. You give what you have, and take even what you might only later afford. You listen to me deeply and while you're down there you speak directly to my soul without translating for my senses. This is why every word of yours is worth a thousand of mine. No wonder I try to repay you with this currency if mine, the only currency I have at times. I know words are coins, but they're at least better than monopoly money. I'm just sorry they are so heavy at times you can't bare to carry your words and mine.
Words escaped me the first time we celebrated kush too. Kushiali was easy for words, I hope you still have the pedals, but when we celebrated kush my words drowned in a riverbed, all I wanted was to bask in the realness of our silence. All I can say is that I want to make real those words from Kushiali years ago. I want to make it all real. I started with the flowers, this time you can smell them and feel their realness.
You deserve to wonder of our realness. You still ponder, if you are a Queen let alone mine, then where is your name etched. You wonder sometimes if it's still there, you tell me. It seems so long ago that you carved your name into this edifice, hasn't it rusted over? You don't know that your carvings are eternal. They are not for the eyes alone, they are carved deep beneath what looks like rust. There has been rust, so much rust. I went today to check to see how much rust has covered the surface of your name. There was indeed rust, so much rust. But it was still there. I checked every single pole in the fields of Corsair to check for the markings you made in the past, and then I realized why it was not there. I was sent there today to make words real. Your mind may feast on my words but in this place where I stand your eyes need nectar from which to drink. You gazed for so long in this place as an unsure princess, I could only hope for your eyes to see now that you are a Queen.
Thanks for seeing me through this time. It meant more than you perhaps know from my words. So I went there to make real my words. I started with a few letters. Baby steps.
Here in this land she had no idea was royal. Watching all of her subjects, the market people and money changers would go about their days, passing by on the Queensway to earn bread. From her palace of solitude she painted dreams of their lives; how either noble or indignant they must be. Her stories brought her closer to their mystery and yet the 6-foot black fence kept her away from their realities. One day, she would think. But with each passing day, the bell would ring and she would have to make her way back across this field and back inside herself. Her father and mother has put her among these common people, these people who are not like her. Confused from her confusion she does not realize that this is because she is royal, but she must understand the workings of these subjects, these people south of the Queensway. It's not her fault, how could she know so soon and so early that she was a princess?
How could she know so soon and so fast that she was my Queen? On that day, the first time we celebrated Kushiali, how could she recognize this dynasty I painted with my words? She has no subjects, no land of her own, no famous battles conquered. Even in these words, I forgot to mention that your royalty is not in the amount of land to your name or people who follow you. It is not in all those things out there, those kingdons are for a lower class of nobility. Your royalty is within. Within everything you say and do, within those deep eyes that used to gaze and the deep mind that was forged to a life of pondering, there on that field. Your royalty comes from the consideration and attention you pay to your loved ones, from the words you say when you cannot take action and the action you take when words escape you. You give what you have, and take even what you might only later afford. You listen to me deeply and while you're down there you speak directly to my soul without translating for my senses. This is why every word of yours is worth a thousand of mine. No wonder I try to repay you with this currency if mine, the only currency I have at times. I know words are coins, but they're at least better than monopoly money. I'm just sorry they are so heavy at times you can't bare to carry your words and mine.
Words escaped me the first time we celebrated kush too. Kushiali was easy for words, I hope you still have the pedals, but when we celebrated kush my words drowned in a riverbed, all I wanted was to bask in the realness of our silence. All I can say is that I want to make real those words from Kushiali years ago. I want to make it all real. I started with the flowers, this time you can smell them and feel their realness.
You deserve to wonder of our realness. You still ponder, if you are a Queen let alone mine, then where is your name etched. You wonder sometimes if it's still there, you tell me. It seems so long ago that you carved your name into this edifice, hasn't it rusted over? You don't know that your carvings are eternal. They are not for the eyes alone, they are carved deep beneath what looks like rust. There has been rust, so much rust. I went today to check to see how much rust has covered the surface of your name. There was indeed rust, so much rust. But it was still there. I checked every single pole in the fields of Corsair to check for the markings you made in the past, and then I realized why it was not there. I was sent there today to make words real. Your mind may feast on my words but in this place where I stand your eyes need nectar from which to drink. You gazed for so long in this place as an unsure princess, I could only hope for your eyes to see now that you are a Queen.
Thanks for seeing me through this time. It meant more than you perhaps know from my words. So I went there to make real my words. I started with a few letters. Baby steps.
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