Were there sunlight, I wouldn't have seen it sooner. Had my eyes been opened, there was nothing I would have noticed until noticing was no longer enough. The changes that set upon you move with brutal agency and little regard. There is no negotiating with the fated or the wrecked. Splinters lay spread upon hasp and hinge, the doors having long been demolished. The roads back are pitted with rock and fire.
The ancients knew not to fight with fate. Prophecy was wound into the way the telling took, the way the words nested in the hair of happenstance. The way these swarms fell from the sky, the way these flocks unwound the dusk. Wings in the sky, bees in the blossom-- every single thing seen and unseen a sign. The possible lies coiled everywhere, awaiting the choice moment to strike as fact. From thought to thing, the paths are bountiful, however badly we might have forgotten the way.
From some change glance, I saw you, and I knew already I was beat. Worn down by some paroxysm of beauty, like the world suddenly shuddered and cast these glowing bouquets of radiant faces all around, witnessing you in graceful concentration lost me any illusion I had of choice. My bean creased with such a brick, it was all I could do to hang constellations in my eyes and cartoon hearts in orbit, a halo revealed as comic despite every sincerity loosed. Would that I could have closed my eyes, and shut out my longing. Would that I have known enough to identify a dream crossed over. At least to have recognized the significance of those wings, before waking walked across this spark. Before choice became another word for destiny.
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