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we are not more than grains of sand some tempered by fate into shiny states of difference these materials of delicates relate to break open from once was this effort mastered, transformed by love is so fragile, so remote, so coveted that the recourse is living so interrupted by interrupted by time, interrupted by fate the shell we care to shed is the shell created to break but isnt that why existence is precious plainly weighted by the repressed exhonerated by the suggestive or never realized by the oflicted just predicted by every moment before calculated the distance, measured as a whole but the hole isnt filled by the ventures of folly these are the memories, of a hero not sullied.
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