His eyes are so blue.
I don’t want to let him down, but I fear it’s destined.
I wish I could just grab onto the concept.
“You can,” said the wind or voice spoken in a whisper.
“At first, there was nothing then a burst of blue butterflies flapping their wings.
“It’s so important to believe. Magic counts on us as we rely on it. Like so much, we all too quickly misunderstand the importance of something we exist with.”
Bubbles have replaced the flapping of blue.
“Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?”
“The process is personal.”
“You could answer me with proper responses I’m more accustomed to!”
“What would be the fun in that?”
“Some, still I think.”
“I’m not certain.”
“Are we late?”
“Should we go?”
The birds of blue and gold fly in circles about in the pink-painted sky. Whisper urge us to keep going.