Weeping under the weeping willow tree, the tiny green leaves swathe against my skin. Tears brush away the breeze caught within. I sit, cross legged, on the soft beach of grass pondering. Mum always said he would be Prince Charming. I’m saving you from a world of tormented seizures. Like I said, I wish you had found me without these purple brain lesions. A long ladder allows Him, He acts for Isaac’s zenith.