Impulse, but did it help?

To kill oneself is an altogether excessively easy thing. To live restfully, as if the world were a closed box, assuming much and explaining little. If I had this choice laid before me, as I do this palace, I’d know to walk away. However, it was not always so.

Frivolity was a fickle wife I had long tended to; it was time I left her to incite other buffoons. I looked upon her face, its plump cheeks stuffed with golden nuts and other such trinkets these people have never glimpsed before, and my eyes wished to advert to some blemish, some chance falseness that sheathed that fair face of fair smiles. I found nothing. Only later did I see the face becoming translucent to me as if it were never there, and I was to be found half-dead, wandering in pursuit of the frilly frivolity I had so cherished and hung to. I realize I had clasped my life to it; I thought my happiness to be firmly mortal for however long her spark permitted her to breathe and dance those small, tightening circles around me so, my smile would fade once hers was lost to me. Yet, now I know, she never took a breath. I only pretended to see it so. She never danced through our chests or upon our heads or around our ears and eyes. I only imagined it to be so. She was never here at all, in fact. Not, in substance, for me.

A certificate of her birth would be utterly… frivolous. For frivolity, much as it feels to have seized people by hand and belly and ear wholeheartedly, now feels as a shroud to me. Its absence is a winter, a silence in the ears, an empty prison cell I may not escape, for I know not how to cease the doubts that comprise the door.

Forgive me, I speak nonsense.

What did I do? The most frivolous thing that captured my mind at the most opportune moment; I took her, this girl, and swept her into the night. Under the rooftops, I took her hand and harried her feet to follow me. Un-dainty our path for un-dainty feet such as I had, so high were her complaints screeching into the moon’s beaming face. I woke dozens of souls that night, and the stars frowned down at how I had reduced her to a dribbling lunatic. But still, I pressed on.