And so, the masked one goes on.

Living as a secret, for the angel he awaits is not awaiting him.

He lives in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment.

As he knows, that moment may never come.

But so, the masked one goes on.

He would like to whisper his angel's name,

He would like to hope that the wind would carry it to her.

And along with the whisper, he would like his hopes and compliments to go.

He would like her to know that she is beautiful.

She does not listen to the wind.

And so, he writes his whispers in the flower beds.

He writes in an elegant script that she is beautiful,

And that she is loved and needed in this harsh world.

But she does not listen to the flowers, nor the wind.

He stomps silently in the shadows, pacing quickly.

His angel does not listen to the whispering wind, or the sweet flowers.

And so, he waits.

She goes on, falling deep into a terrifying nightmare.

He tries to follow after, but he longs to be waiting here for her when she awakes.

But so, as he knows, she does not awake.