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Margulis, forgive me.

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This came to me last night. It might just be the whimsy of a hopeless romantic channeling his own thoughts, but Ballas strikes me as someone who would write to someone he lost. Anyway, I'll end this here.



Beneath golden eaves, amongst golden flowers,

I sat with you in fleeting light.

Moments became lifetimes, smiles lasted for eternity.

I sat on the highest throne in the lowest grass.


The will shared, unbent, unforgiving. Pure and righteous.

It made me like you, a creature bound by limited time, by the fractured knowledge of what came next.

Made me regret my station, what I was.

You made it bearable, tangible. Beautiful.


The future was ours, you smiled and said, just as it was struck from you.

You stood as a god to us, the last great hope against an old mistake.

You stood at my docket, the scorn of a future you despised.

To the end, that passion danced in your mind and in my heart. It burned so brightly that no light can match it still.


The future is lost. What can it be with only that uncaring, taciturn intelligence guiding it?

Walking on air that no one else can see? Dreams of things that will never bear fruit?

I see a glimpse of you in the sky, but only for a second. I feel a familiar pain.

I yearn for the end I can never have, to be there, with you, cast adrift as a nimbus lazily floating, forever.


You became the dancing lights in the sky.

The wind cast you away and the night drew in. So cold. Indifferent. There is no fleeting light.

Lifetimes become moments, Happiness is gone. I sit on the highest throne and wish for the loam.

I am the fool of higher stools. I smile, because that is my station.

I secretly scream your name into the void, begging, hoping that you will scream back.


Please, forgive me.

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