Well, this is my new story. Erik contemplates what hope and love means to him i guess. He sadly, does not have a one track mind, and i am responsible to record his disorganized thoughts. I'm actually supposed to be doing my HUGE history paper now, but I was overcome with a brain fart and decided to indulge on my imagination. This story is deeply influenced by Poe, and if you are familiar with his work, it is pretty obvious. I have also used Emily Dickenson and Elizabeth Browning. Their wonderful poems belong to them and them only. The Phantom however, belongs to dear Gaston Leroux. I hope this story is entertaining, and i would love some comments or criticism! there's always room for improvement, so feel free to pick this apart. (:

I've lived through many things in this life; I've endured and experienced many things. Hate? I know what hate is. Pain? I know what pain is as well.

I understand them. Like my darkness, we are all very close acquaintances. Despite our closeness, I still won't call them my friends. How can one become friends with hate and pain? Such a thing is unheard of.

However, there are two things that are new. Two things that are new in this ending life, loving with a love that is more than love, and hope, that thing with feathers.

See, these are new, and barely explored, fully entertaining and yet frightening at the same time.

I can paint a picture with a thousand words on it, yet, I do not know what to think of it. Hope is like a colorful and immensely beautiful bird. Once it flies into the air, it is easily spotted by predators and is quickly taken down.

You see, my hope, my hope swelled above that castle by the sea, then plummeted down below the night's plutonian shore.

And oh my love! My faithful undying love!

I loved her freely, purely, with a burning passion! And yet, she has spurned me.

Unlike all other ugly things in nature, I am unique. Even spiders and snakes have mates, and I have no one.

I loved her so deeply that no other living man on earth will ever come close to the love I bore for her. I hope, yet I lose it. I love, yet she doesn't return it.

What am I to do?

No one will lift my hopes up; no one will return my love until I find my suitable mate. However, I cannot love any other than her.

Until I she loves me, my soul remains unchanging upon the floor among the ghosts of the dying embers.

What am I to do?

I have tried to change for her, but she did not want me. I see that I must change her, make her change to fit me, for I want her in the best way possible.

Yes, she must be the one to change. She will be the one who will make us the most unique pair.

I love with a love that was more than love, the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Christine.