imagine, if you will, a horror movie
of the truly terrifying sort.
something evil is about to happen,
and eventually it does.
but your fear does not subside
for you're not even half-way through the movie,
and each new wave of sheer panic is going to be worse.
stretch this movie over months and years.
time is not a healer.
it grates the core of your soul
down to a hollow depression,
that darkens, deepens you forever.
once upon a time, a miserable sod of a widower was made to retreat into his navel.
in there he was spied upon from afar by a fairy whom he spied upon, for how else would he know? that lived safe and cosy inside her own belly button, from whence - incapable of fathoming his pain - she ranted and bellowed, proclaiming her museum of navel history to be the best attraction in town. should she have known how much he hated navels?