Written for Lokogato's prompt
Prince, don't ask me in a week
or in a year what place they are;
I can only give you this refrain:
Where are the snows of yesteryear?
--François Villon,
and the 30kisses prompt 1. look over here.
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Look up, Brother. I know your stupid books are interesting and all, but I can't read them from up here, and I'm lonely, and you've been reading those books for hours. Why don't you want to notice me? I think you know I'm here. You talk to me in your sleep. I used to reply, until I saw you wake up crying one morning, when you thought you dreamed I kissed you.
If you don't look up, I'll learn to break things without touching them. I'll tear up your room-- rip your posters off the wall, shred your books, break that damn Ring you keep in your desk drawer. You shouldn't keep the Ring anyway. Everytime you put it on, you turn into someone who doesn't miss me.