Stroking me off with magical fingers that had her once touted as a child prodigy on the piano, I grind my teeth as she takes me to the precipice of a place she’s taken me so many times before. Shaking as the ground swirls beneath me, I hold onto the branch above with the tips of my nicotine-stained fingers. It’s barely enough to stop me from falling, but barely enough in this instance is enough. Swimming upon my tear-stained eyes, the colours of everything run and bleed into everything else until my vision resembles that of a kaleidoscope. I go to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat. The story of my life it seems. All I can do is sway. Sway the same as the branches as she sings her mysterious song. It’s one I recognise but can’t place. Some ‘80s track I’m sure of it. The lyrics are in Japanese, but the melody is a western one. Sounds like a reoccurring dream; a dream of a life I have lived of which I can’t recall. Like the face of a stranger who stands out from the crowd for reasons that can’t be explained. It won’t be long before I come, but I hope she keeps the wolf from the door a while longer, for the strangeness of this moment is just too much for me to relinquish. Grimacing as my bones turn to glue, my existence becomes a pot of warm honey, with Meeko the spoon that stirs my wicked soul.