A lost letter plenty of unsaid words...

Last letter 'til the morning.
 
Time ago I wrote about the beginning of this fragment, the hardest part.
Like everything in my wood that waits to be true, it waited too, and now its moment arrived.
Can't say I dislike tragic stories, but I always knew that must be more pages in this book, no matter how many times I denied it; because we are too much involved. Yes, we have the gift of seeing fordware, and from my blue roses throne I saw the twinkling rays of the new morning rising up above the sea of our fears.
The Second Act is coming to an end, the call of the final bettle is loud, it's loud outside here, and the blowing wind brings echoes of war on its burnt air. Won't lie saying no withered leaves have fallen, won't lie saying I care for it.
I'm not a warrior this time, but I'll end up near the fight, to hold you when you're getting back.
We had cried while dreaming that old beautiful melody away, which we want to be surrended by. And now our tragic heroe is here to die for us, to pay for his sins that's why sadness is not needed. When he dies, his sould will be pure for the first time and will find its way home again.
Finaly we'll be able to starrify our wood together as we did at the Paradise.

Good evening, my reborn mate, let's meet at the lightness!