Why Haven’t You Asked Me

Something About The Circus Stirs Their Souls, And They Ache For It When It Is Absent.

The Funeral Is A Quiet One, Despite The Number Of Mourners Present. There Are No Sobs Or Flailing Handkerchiefs. There Is A Smattering Of Color Amongst The Sea Of Traditional Black. Even The Light Rain Cannot Push It Down Into The Realms Of Despair. It Rests Instead In A Space Of Thoughtful Melancholy.

Timing Is A Sensitive Thing.

You Think, As You Walk Away From Le Cirque Des Rêves And Into The Creeping Dawn, That You Felt More Awake Within The Confines Of The Circus. You Are No Longer Quite Certain Which Side Of The Fence Is The Dream.

He Reads Histories And Mythologies And Fairy Tales, Wondering Why It Seems That Only Girls Are Ever Swept Away From Their Mundane Lives On Farms By Knights Or Princes Or Wolves. It Strikes Him As Unfair To Not Have The Same Fanciful Opportunity Himself. And He Is Not In The Position To Do Any Rescuing Of His Own.