Preseverance

For this entry, I thought how about a story?
you like stories, don't you baby?
Once upon a time, (and this is a story in a story, if you understand my time)
A young girl was a'talkin to her stallion.
Speaking gentle coaxing cooes of whispered
Fairytales and seldom did she speak of this one.

But I remember...

"Frost covered the windows,
The kind you could draw using fingertips.
If your hand was calm, your aim dead-shot
You could paint a whole world if not more.

Jasmine, perched atop her roof,
Was a sharin words of wisdom,
Words of distant truths
With her companion for the night.

'I was but a child when
In love I first fell.
For fairytales existed not
The time before then.

However, leave he had to
Eventually.
Promising to return quickly.

If I was good, did as was told
Never spoke and never stole,
Never lied and never said no,
Improvising all along.

He heeded me remember these,
And always rest assured,
If I kept on, with dead-shot aim
All yearnings would be cured.

Until the time we meet again,
Until the time we speak again,
Until the time we see again,
We'll blind our eyes and numb our lips
Drawing pictures in the windows with our fingertips.

And so have I,
So will I,
Until I've rubbed my finger raw,
Until there's no more room to draw.'

So preseverance is the word,
But what is the answer?
I guess you shall write your own,
The End."

I remembered...
do you?