“I am a winged creature who is too rarely allowed to use its wings. Ecstasies do not occur often enough.” Anais Nin
It has gone midnight when I cross the park but he is quite visible by the street lamp. Stick limbs. Wild hair. The sickly-sweet scent of honey. He is filthy and beautiful, this Monarch-Man, my Emperor of Flies.
I have been following him for months now. Sometimes it feels like my whole life has been lost to his search. Rather, it has been lost to my search for him. He takes no part in my hunt. I would be surprised if he knew that I sought him at all. But I had, I have; from the first moment I set eyes on him, crawling from the tube station.
I alone watched him tumble through the turnstiles and into the street. He reached the curb on his side…
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