Sunday, April 21, 2013


FLORA: Oh, you Sweet Honest Fool, I do not love you. But I have no
much ado to accepting to walk beside you to the altar. (I really could
have done that with a dog if no man will come) at least to have a
right to the respectability of being addressed as Mrs. Your type will
never by the remotest chance be offered a seat in my fathers house,
coming to seek your missing rib.

Many a fine officers and gentlemen have come knocking, and have had
their retreating arse blest with the mark of my father's soldierman's
boot. They never again make such forlorn advance.

Many a eligible bachelor of noble means have come, seeking to make a
bride of me; but my mother's house-wifely ladle, pots and pans have
drummed out cacophonys on their heads and backs, till they left and
never returned.

Many a would-be prince-charming- Red Roses in hand, confident smiles
on face as pretty as violets are blue, have come looking for me like I
was some Cinderella; but none of the symbolic glass slippers they came
forth with would I be bothered to try my feet in.

They also came: the adventurous cavaliers, ugly as frogs are wont to
be. They came seeking my conjugal kiss that should make them princes.
Oh, but how my displeased countenance burned, and how they wilted like
petals of wax. Those will never come back.

They left; all of the them, princes and paupers; soldiers and whimp,
knights and knaves, to mend their broken pride, and fill the hollow of
their missing ribs with sorrows. For none can have no love from me.
This has been the trend, for one decade and a half after My Sweet

The siege laid to my maiden-head have ended and you come five years
late to pluck a wilting flower. Oh, I wish I can only put on the show
of loving you. Even if I could love what I got, I bring nothing to it.
The scent and romantic aromé has long left this wilted Flora.

FAUN: (Drooling, eyes roving and unfocused) I cannot love you either,
unless you accept me. I have no love to give, save the one you will
vest in me.  so horrible a Beast I am, but in you, I see my Beauty. I
am dull a sackcloth, you are bright as the summer sun. I am stooped
like a vermin, you are upright as a Queen. I am nothing, but you are
the world. Half a complete man I am, you are my better half.

We will find that love yet; when our two imperfect halves will be
fussed into a perfect whole. There is no greater love ever found than
the fussion of two imperfect halves to make a perfect whole. Yes, we
will find that love yet. Us. WILTED ROSE AND BUNGLING BEE.


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