We have much to do, much to see. And even more to celebrate.
The days have weathered and worn my thoughts, and i grow ever more myopic in both heart and mind. I stare into the glowing blankness that has become the greatest characterisation of our morning sky, and i cry. A clarion call of urgent resolution that i would not founder, that i will not yield to a pedestrian life marked by tenuous affairs and extrinsic delights; that i will find you.
My lungs collapse, a pensive ventilation escapes my lips as my thoughts lull into a hush.
And i envisage with all i can afford that in a blistering storm of tears and furore, the sky would tear itself apart. The seas would collide and tumble for a seeming eternity before completely draining beneath the quickly dilapidating landscape. Everything would fall and crumble into the dirt beneath my feet and before long i would stand in a destitute wasteland.
And across miles of a world stripped bare, you will be there. Your hair in a precious mess, and your eyes looking straight into mine.
