People say that the clutches of obsession comes upon one suddenly and without warning. They say that obsession is swift and suddenly and without warning. They say that obsession is swift and sudden in its deliverance, beautiful like the fleeting glimpse of sakura blossoms, painting the shy sky with a quiet blush against its cheeks, leaving barren the beauty that it once held for that fleeting moment; and in glimpsing her naked body, strong and sturdy and unwilling to display (no, unwilling to feel) shame, they are awed by her subliminal, pure majesty.

The breath of one's sanity is said to be whisked away by merely this sight, the youth of their innocence behind them, the touch of her beauty enchanting, and, in the end, staring in awe at her unwavering conviction, suddenly an unknowing pet at her command.

He, on the other hand, disagreed.

He knew plants like he knew his heart: Still-beating, majestic, pulsating within his chest the secrets and the lies of the earth. He knew obsession-knew it as a sharp-tongued rival, biting his lies and laughing when its fixation was stranded, a helpless fish drowning in air miles and miles from water. No, not like that-he figured it would be more along the lines of a drowning plant.

Drowning under pounds of water, stuck to the ground where its roots entangled the earth in an intricate network of winding paths and corridors. The ray of hope (sunlight) filtered so heavily by it that its waterlogged form mutely danced in tune to the fractured light's beacon.

Granted, he thought, there were obvious exceptions. Kelp (suspended in misery, surrounded on all sides, but somehow living within this dying world, anchored to the ground); water lilies (the stems long and the spirits high above the troubles, he pondered grudgingly. Water lilies broke easy enough, though).

Obsession wasn't sakura trees. It was beautiful, yes, but it was lasting. It was a work of art, everlasting until the end of its immortal days.

Fixation wasn't water. it focused and it stored the focus in its foundation for survival. Its roofs were thick and strong, able to survive without nourishment for extensive periods; when encouraged to unleash her full potential, she blossoms in a valley of abandonment, and she is beautiful. Time, patience, stinginess-such is what creates the perfect fixation, the absolute obsession, and the perpetual passion that forges the ultimate utopia*.

Obsession was a desert cactus.

Strong, with roots deeper than the monotone drone of time. Obsession was a castle, and the roots created a fortress-a fortress unassuming on the front bu indeed with a sharp exterior and a toxic touch. Small. Quaint; but the corridors underneath it seemed to extend miles and miles deep.

Try to touch her, and she will bite.

Try to kill her, and she will destroy.

Try to nurture her...

(and she will bloom, he flowers the brightest of pinks against the hot desert sand.)

Such was Amaimon's obsession.

Utopia-defined as a place of absolute perfection where everything is perfect and everyone is peaceful. It was first used in the fictional novel Utopia in the early 1500s. Oftentimes it is depicted as being heaven on earth or the Garden of Eden-seeing as how Amaimon is the King of Earth, I suspect that he'd tie into the 'Garden of Eden' part, now that I come to think of it, haha.

I'm not dead. Just... unmotivated. Give me time to do my stuff, and I'll be able to update my stories without feeling stressed. :S