The stars have done their part, shining all bright and sparkly. The cloud all milled about, as if they had a say. The night came only to go again, never failing to disappoint. Don't bother to ask about the day. We make our wishes, we take our chances.
What do you make of a story like ours? What lessons are there to learn when you knew the moral all along? Our story is a forbidden kingdom. Our story is a lost weekend. A comedy of errors mistaken for the triumph of will. The accumulation of terrible mistakes taken for destiny.
The world we know is all but new. The stretch of hundreds or thousands of years, either the latest craze or the earliest city, is but a cosmic blink. We believe in what and where we were born to, or in some convoluted rejection of the same. The gods of our elders become the gods we know are true, and we love and hate accordingly. A time and place for everything, the prophecy fulfilled. How blinding the beauty, how lovely the song.
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