We were always so close, just like moon and the stars, the lunatic watching the twinkling, so close but so far. I enjoyed the rivalry but didn't fade her glow. There was a connection, a sour one, but still it's existance was necessary. Songs were portrayed over her, questions were asked to her, people were compared to her, and also there were bad times, sometimes earth came between and sometime she herself, but still she held perfection in being imperfect. With all her goods and deeds, calms and breeze, anger and faults, scars and all I belonged to her. And there are always a but in every tale. The lunatic wasn't so glad that the stars steal the joy of shimmering in the night, everyone just pointed up but either for her scars or for the faintly approaching light. And of a sudden a snap of us was called off. No questions, no answers, just pure hatered. But I still find solace in this hatred, because her love might end, but her anger wouldn't, the anger that binds us, the anger that keeps us satisfied, the anger that unites us.