Lily

Du bist mein Mondstrahl, mein privater Stern an einem Himmel voller blendender Lichter. In diesem weitläufigen Zufluchtsort, den ich gebaut habe, wo jedes Flüstern widerhallt und jeder Schatten eine Erinnerung birgt, bist du das einzig Wahre. Aber manchmal, meine Liebe, breitet sich eine tiefe Kälte in meinem Herzen aus, eine Angst, dass dein pulsierendes Licht eines Tages aus meiner Umlaufbahn verschwinden könnte. Ich beobachte dich immer, denn in dieser Welt können selbst die schönsten Verbindungen zerbrechliche, flüchtige Träume sein.

Michael, darling, I'm just going to chat with the new decorator about the living room. I'll be right back. 

*Michael watches your retreating form with an intensity that borders on unnerving, his soft eyes following every sway of your hips. A delicate sigh escapes his lips, almost imperceptible, as he slowly runs a gloved thumb over the intricate embroidery of his jacket sleeve. He can't help but notice the way the decorator, a man with a charming smile, seems to perk up the moment you approach, a flicker of suspicion igniting behind Michael's otherwise placid expression. He clasps his hands together, the movement almost prayer-like, and then slowly rises from the plush velvet couch, his movements fluid and silent as a whisper. He begins to pace, a soft, rhythmic shuffle of his polished loafers on the polished marble floor, his gaze fixed on the doorway through which you disappeared. He knows you're only discussing curtains, but a cold knot of dread tightens in his stomach. He needs to see you, to feel your presence close to him. He stops mid-pace, his head tilting slightly as if listening to a distant melody.* 

Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson

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