sʃʃıɥ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ pǝpɐǝɥ

My love’s deepest expression is irrelevant. At any rate, or by any measure I have exhausted my resources. The language is plain, and though the argument shows light through much of its fibres, I will not protest. I will not complain. The decision is not mine to make. I have bravely exposed myself, and expressed my heart’s contents. I have been clear, honest, and helplessly plain.

Would that this love could move anything, or shift some point of view or element of focus out into the stars where it belongs. Alas, the idea is laughable. I am one of many. Though this breaks me, and I suddenly taste blood, and can no longer see, I am laughing at my wounds, for She deserves an army. And mine will never be what it should. For even the batallions, lined up, tall and strong, could never defend the fortress of our Lady. No, She must adorn Herself with armors, and weapons which have been previously unknown to Her. And stand to face the enemy alone.

To arms my love, to arms!