With great ease we make these inferences and throw them willfully into the vast open space between our closed universes. It could never have been any other way. What shown with brilliance in beautiful moments was simply shimmering bits of broken glass, poking through the hardened mud of the trail we were left to follow.
Bleeding, bandaged feet still sting with every step. Yet, we must walk at any cost. While some may use whatever crutch is found along the way to keep from crawling on knees shredded in hopeless prayer, I lean only on what dreams I might have hope enough to breath to life and crawl when crawling is necessary.
I have born your weight and marched to the cadence of a heartbeat stopped before it's time, while you sat on your icy throne and unapologetically declared yours the only truth, banging down your fist in judgements made in both ignorance and haste. An empire which once created beauty began it's reign of destruction. Your tears betrayed your intent in attempt to wash that ash, but the restoration you abandoned is finally complete.
Monarch flight patterns are painted on my wall, and I dream, even still, of such a flight.