The story unwinds as the day unravels, the road before you and the sky high tomorrow. I ride out the twitch and twine of my ragged nerves cutting back the shrubs and reasoning the deadfall into piles. This passive spell of thoughts unspoken, the sand in my honey, the bitter in my sweet. The words that well with-in my heart, despite all the chips you have anted, despite all the skin you put into the game. The strange feeling at you are some prayer answered, though I don't think that there is anyone on the line. The odd notion that our entanglement is fated, though I don't particularly believe in fate.
And so the rush of proselytizers, the hocus pocus omen huggers to attribute deeds to their incomprehensible mystery wizards. So comes the claims the claims for invisible intercessors, spirits, and all-gods. The meaning gleaned from the winning streak. The divine seen in favor granted or enemy's demise. The hordes of statistics, the hives of numbers busted open and a-swarm. The way incidents branch and peel as we cast our gaze back towards beginnings. The way the truth seems obvious when you are so certain it has been revealed. I can look to the sky and be certain that there are things there I can not see. But there is no proof inherent in my lack of sight.
Still, as you travel towards me in this space and time, it feels as though we are. meant to be together. As you come to me in all your beauty and your glory, as you come to me despite my failures and my flaws, there is a magic of blood and want and coincidence that I must honor even as I think I know better. While the winds run wild and the dust kicks and swirls, I feel my heart seethe with wishes. All these silly stories I want for my very own. I offer you every indulgence, each bite and every morsel of this yearning meat I am. I offer you all my tomorrows, knowing full well the doom at most likely entails. Knowing that my words ring hollow even towards your heart, I sing out my empty prayers, though I must most likely answer them on my own.