Time tells its tale in sweet harmony. The catchy pulls on the strings of memories and nostalgia intertwined in a perfect melody that comes out as a long lost Bach symphony, or an opus composed by a heavenly orchestra.
It was bliss. It was the best of times. It was a season of naivety and innocent ignorance–the kind you would gladly trade a minute of reality for, any day.
Yet it was a prison. It was the worst of times. It was the embodiment of stupidity and rare rage that swallows you whole in a blinding embrace of future haunting consequences.
We shaped the future. We took a path. It led to our reality now. We are not here despite our choices. No, they led us here. It was an express road–out of a million and one alternate realities, we took the only one that could lead to this time in space.
Our losses, our heartbreaks, our tears. Together with the waves of laughter, the late nights with loved ones, the false promises of forever and after.
They are gold.
They are here, right now.
They are us.
