"I Used To Be Snow White, But I Drifted," - Mae West, I'm No Angel (1933)
Snow was a joy to behold as it first fell peacefully to the grounds, but his boots were heavy and corrupted by dirt. He left her bruised and forever changed, in her state of mind and being. Then spring came and she melted beyond recognition and left no traces of existance. It was as if she never were.
I prefer it this way. To cease without an advance warning; the way ashes turn to dust, and dust scatters in the wind. Perish. I wish ideas could perish the same. Even now, my mind is teeming with the thought of you. But I am gone. At least I could make myself disappear.
