...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
A
taken this time to establish my own thought,
because it has gone through much turmoil —
perhaps via osmosis a crisis that lived in Leila
would soon become known to us, and become us!
of course this crisis eventually led to her time at
the nunnery, but so much happened before and
so much happened after this occurred, that it
seems that what transpired only added textures of
narratives to that which already was fated, already
was told and already was predisposed to happen. I
kept insinuating to Yashu that he should just stop
with what was clearly only able to be deemed a
dead-end — This illustrious masterpiece, he
named Heaven was flawed in its inception: if it
were a mathematic equation it would’ve been the
cause of the mathematician spending years and
years formulating, but with the hope of full
completion of the equation, so tragically for
Yashu he treated Heaven as an equation. If I get
all the angles right, and everything correct it’ll be
perfect, said Yashu. And from observing Yashu’s
perspective I knew that he was always flawed, why
he chose to be an Artist was always a question I
would continually wonder, and insinuate to him.
This was the reason he had moved from his
hometown in Bedfordshire, and rebelled against
his Father, The Professor. The Professor wanted
him to be a mathematician and saw his decision to
move to London and become an Artist, Yashu
would initially say, as a despicable decision. The
Professor would constantly tell Yashu that he was
only digging his own grave with that paintbrush.
But certainly, that paintbrush could be replaced
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