I have written odes and billowing 3-masted sailing ships for my love. She is dandy. She is swell. She makes ribs on the barbeque with zero sensibility of BBQ sauce. She sews my ripped jacket when it becomes torn. She makes tuna on toast with capers because she knows I like capers the best.

I wonder why she is so sad after all the hub-bub ended. Maybe...because she knows I am yet still sad, like her.

I wonder where she's absconded to.

She's a fish out of water, breathing gills flap and subside with a click. I pour tetra-cycline on her eyeball and she screams and I extinguish her life. When her spirit-form appears; I give her acts of contrition to dispel ugly weapons and ravaging beasts. I put her spirit-form in a drawer and lock it with a strangely-shaped key. She escapes and eats my soul. I then eat her soul and we are happy, thereafter.