[ CW ] Write a story entirely made of metaphors , except for occasional sentences .

He was an albatross, my love. 
 
 Airborne in a wide, majestic arc and shining with beads of golden sweat. Far above, he flew. Above the pool that churned with his fellows. Which, like all pools, was ever sullied with the excrement of the lazy and lame. 
 
 But my albatross soared. He dazzled, he shone, he smiled, he laughed. Oh how he laughed. Always first, his contagious guffaws, and by the time you got the joke, he'd already flown away. 
 
 For he made wings of his fins and claimed a domain of his own. Grifting and hustling his way from the docks to the airport, and from the airport the rest of the world. 
 
 He called it his oyster, which I forgave, for he called *me* his pearl. 
 
 And a pearl I was. 
 
 For really, what is a pearl at its heart but a grain of presumptuous trash? An unlikely bit of a thing, gently smothered by years and years of slimy words and whispered mucus. 
 
 Delightful, deluded, and beautiful up until the very second my clock chimed midnight, and lo and behold, the carriage was a pumpkin after all. 
 
 Oh, he made succor of suckers, he did. Still is, by my reckoning. A fresh little thing dazzling by his side. But I do n't mind. One day he'll fall. His weary old wings'll remember they're just bitty fins, and he'll fall. Down, down, and back into this old pool where it all began. 
 
 And I'll be here, at the bottom. Waiting. Still waiting. Till that day.
