oh, marea

how many stars were you to count until you could lie peacefully underneath your grave? could i have possibly saved your grace and watched over you from above, rather than carve myself onto your stone and stain it of my wail for as long as it holds me together? if i span my wings over you, rotting underneath the ground; i could have saved you from all meteors and strikes of lightning, but not

this,

i hope my presence in the absence of you will bring honour to all of the inscriptions written to tell the world my failure.