I can nearly see him between those words. He is standing there, wearing his holy white robe. His curly hair clouds his peak face, and his eyes, the deep, beautiful eyes is full of sadness. The crown, the golden crown is on his head. It’s so heavy, the weight of the crown gives him a intolerable torture. But he is smiling, even his face is full of gibe and sadness. The crown, the hollow crown makes Richard II happy, although he knows that it is just a dream.
He lost the crown hundreds years ago, with his honor and his name. Who is he? When he lost his crown, who can he become? A normal person? A maniac? A poor worm and the only reason he can survive because of his cousin’s mercy? He has lost himself a long time ago, the hollow crown eats him and makes him become a piteously torso. Now the hollow crown disappears. No one will understand the weight of this curse except those falling kings. But still I can see it, hiding in those books, laughing, waiting to see those stupid human run to the hell, chasing for this false crown.
