" To fear love is to fear life
and those who fear life are already
three parts dead. "

He awoke peacefully, his eyes fluttering open and the sky turned. Stretches of navy and ink were splattered across the sky like paint blots, no clouds in sight, and few stars showing their presence.

Beside him lay Kvet, her ivory skin seemingly luminous in the moonlit glow. Her crescent eyelashes contrasting sharply with her skin, florid cheeks gone and back is the porcelain doll.

She slumbered quietly, a soft inhale, an even softer exhale. The rise and fall of her chest light, her petite body curled and arms outstretched, seemingly looking for his presence and warmth. Her fine and fragrant hair lay cascading along the ground beside her.

The street rat resisted the urge to run his fingers through the endless strawberry blonde and instead acknowledged that she might catch cold if out long enough. It was a bit chilly, the sun long gone and the boy was more aware of the breeze that strengthened with the night.

At first he attempted to tap her shoulder, gently calling her name. She only gave a sigh and he smiled lazily to himself, content with the sound of her breath and the evening cicadas chirping to make their presence known. He scooped her in his arms carefully for fear of waking such a peaceful slumber.

She was light, skin gelid which concerned him. After carrying her in he was stuck, should he set her on the love seat and take his leave? Should he risk going upstairs and laying her to sleep as he tiptoed out? He hadn't known whether he was supposed to stay or not.

He carefully decided on bringing her up, her silent stairs in awe of their new visitor as he climbed them to her room. Everything inside was as he imagined, innocent and seemingly child like. A day bed with ornate designs, white ruffled sheets and an aged dresser that held scarce color. Atop it were common essentials but what caught his eye was the ballerina chest, a rose bud pink, the only thing that held color in the room.

It was closed but wound, waiting for her svelte fingers to open it once more. Waiting to sing the tune in her presence again.

He set her down in the bed, covering her up to her shoulders with the creamy linen, her breathing softer than before as she gave a sigh of contentment.

He had decided he would leave, his place was not here, not beside her. She was prestigious and so above him, she was the sweetest girl he'd ever knew, he would only taint her.

It dawned on him, his mind becoming clear. He should not have come, he was homeless and angry. She held none of the negative emotions he held, he practically clenched them, deep within his grasp refusing to let go.

Because if he didn't have anger, if he didn't sadness or rage, then who was he?