The red mist knows us still, yet we are no longer bound by a flimsy red string. Not tied to anything or one another anymore. Still charmed by your crow's feet, I'd often think of your mouth. Out of a thousand smiles, yours is the only one that stayed with me. We sure drank the moonlight in those days, though I'll readily admit I didn't know what we were doing with it then. Wolves had abandoned us by then, remember, no longer hungry. I have regrets but none too many and none about you. It was a different time but I had some understanding, kind of. Certainly, a little of me understood you and that part of me wanted you. But that was then and now is gone. This is what need does to you, it has no concept of time or morality. It makes you carve grins on gargoyles with blunt knives, it forces you to paint memories. Speaking of the faded colors of the sun, we may no longer walk into some paintings, but we still have that moon. What kindling we do have is enough and trust that that's enough. Blackness is no longer holding you, you can let go of the night. You always did squeeze it too tight in your fists. Unclench your hands, open them. Forgive. For, tell me. What, should we stop living just because we are alive?