"The tiny mouse wanders through the barren land covered by the darkness of the night. It's so dark he definitely can't see.

He knows what's coming after him, and he can feel the moment is near, it'll happen very soon: he'll be lifted up to the skies, a place he never could reach before, where he'll fly despite having no wings, except for the majestic red and alluringly fluffy wings that dominate the night (and) time and is going to carry him.

He knows there's nowhere he could run, if he could run, and he can't run, he doesn't even want to run, it's his body that still wants to survive pointlessly, still he consciously knows there's no way he's going to survive another night.

Silence is breathtaking, it's like no other silence he heard before. He squeaks faintly, as the cold wind gusts reach and touches his back fur, causing him goosebumps.

He's extremely scared, so scared that the fear drove him burdened, lethargic, resigned before his own, soon demise.

His energy wasn't depleted just by fear, though: it was depleted by the oxymoronic and paradoxical feelings of awe, love and surrender going inside him with every chill from the gusts. He's in fear, and he's in awe, and he's in uttermost love.

One could ask, how could a mouse become passionately in awe for his merciless predator soon to sweep down from the dark skies onto him? He's just a tiny, weak, irrelevant and shameful mouse, falling in love with the most fearsome creature who feels no love for his kind. He's just another tasteful dinner for the night.

Still he is in love with the very one who he also fears so deeply. And each of his squeaks, promptly heard by the one who can hear the slightest variations in his heartbeat from afar, are his agonized attempts to say a forbidden "I love Thou". A forbidden love from a miserable lover soon to meet the merciless sharp claws and insatiable blood hunger of his Mighty beloved.”