I was weary with longing, all those years I had pined skakeneedily after this thing, this ever real and ever dreamy, ever onbe-ish and ever unonbe-ish object of my nering. And I was angstfull, and wracked, and rent and reft with angst. I walked back and forth, putting my hands up against my andlit, drawing my fingers through my hair, breathing heavily, panting even, yes panting, and quivering with angst, angst over life, angst over dawning over the ever-narrowing allotted time given to seek out the object, a time that seemed to be slipping quickly away. Angstful and longing-filled, this was me. Angstful forwhy of my longing, a longing that had grown misty over time, forwhy of its ongoing unfulfilledness, its being unbefrithed, and yet a longing that never became less onbe-ish and ongetable than when it sat on the brink of awareness. It was always onbe-ish, sightless of how long I had lived with it, it wouldn’t leave me. Walking back and forth therefore was I— what to do?, surely, surely there is a way out of this, all can’t be lost, there must be something I can do, there must be some work at hand. I must get to it forthwith, there’s not much time left, but what, what is it I must do, what tharf beckons to me? Untaken-care-of thrafsomehood, this was me.

I forseek to put it into words, but to no bestead— how weak and wretched words are. The forseek, oh how they forseek to raise themselves up to the stead of that other way of telling of things. With great swithe do words hoist and heave, but they can never, never partake of the lityness of swin. Sway, oh let me die if there be no sway, if there be no swaycraft to soothe and frover me, to tell of heavenly things, and to set a thrafsome fire in my panging soul. When longing is set ablaze by the thrafsomehood of swaycraft, then it is awakened from its sleep, then does it fling open its eyes wide and have stamped on its anleth a look of overwhelming unbelief and lity hurt, thringing and thundering and thremful hurt, and thrawing too, and of the surging and upblowing awakening onto the fleetingness of all that is lity. Oh, oh, no, oh no, oh my God no, how could this be, don’t go , don’t go, everything is so lity, I cannot help weeping, yes pouring out tears, for the awesome lityness set before and all around me.

Lity it is, but it is so hard to reach, and ever bewaying itself away from me, and look, Oh God, soon I will die, and leave all of this, and how its lityness eeks up unbound and endlessly, forewhy of this, forwhy of its soon–to-be-gone-ness . I am wholly and allthroughly overtaken by this, this thunderful feeling, and I weep and gasp, so heavy is my breathing, and I am called to deedyhood, I look around me thrafsomely, there is no time, soon it will all be gone, my friends, where are you?, I must see you, I must look into your eyes, I must weep and gasp and pant with tearstorm-longing set ablaze. World, wights, home, I must look deeply into you, I must have your onbuild stamped forever in my mind, I must never forget you. And you my love , my heartdweller, my beddweller, weep with me, please, and hold me and peer into my eyes, come I must kiss you with strong and thrafsome and lovestorm- kisses, we must never be asunder, never. We shall be together forever.

Wordstock: Skakeneedily-desperately, Onbe-ish- present, Nering-rescuing, salvation (from OE nerian), Unbefrithed-unsatisfied, Ongetable-perceivable, Tharf-need, Thrafsomehood-urgency(from OE thrafian-to urge, to compel), Forseek-try, Bestead-avail, Swithe-strength, Lityness-beauty (OE wlitiy-beautiful), Swin-melody, Sway-sound, Swaycraft-music, Frover- to comfort, Anleth-face, Thringing- piercing, Thremful- majestic, splendorous, Thrawing-suffering, Beway- to move, Forwhy- because, Deedyhood-action, Onbuild-image

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