Categories > Original > Drama
"When you find your way then you see it disappear..."
~Chris Cornell, Sunshower
Someday the world will forgive us our madness, and realize we are nothing more than two broken shells in search of meaning. We have reached the end, and the night unfolding before us does not turn black, merely the darkest, most somber blue.
We'll be remembered as unfeeling gods bent on destroying each other, our smoldering wrath enveloping everything, collateral damage littering our wake. They will first condemn us, then pretend to understand, and ultimately proclaim us as majestically tragic, worthy of a myth. They are weaving cautionary legends around us now, even as the cooling breeze begins to dry the sweat on your shivering back.
Share with me then this moment, this last dragging breath of smoke. Funny to think that we are ultimately held together by our dirty, bad habits. Had we remembered that are both nicotine addicts, would we have been less cruel, knowing that something else besides tragedy was tying us together, even something as laughable as a vice? I like to think we would.
This is the unvarnished truth: we are nothing, flickers of fancy by a cruel, capricious god. Much like the flickers at the end of our cigarettes that illuminate the dark, then disappear as quickly.
Cigarette butts will tell our life story, and ashes our mistakes. This is always the way with us, I think. In the end, the things that matter are the inconsequential fragments we leave behind, those that we manage to overlook. Now all that is left is the singed, forgotten smell of burning. Of the smoke that we once thought could hide us from the world. Now we can see how false our cover was, the fumes couldn't even conceal us from each other.
The night is laid out before us, and is turning darker still, until the moment comes that it could not contain its lightlessness and then collapse at the terrible weight of black. Only the dawn could give it redemption. Nothingness gives way to light. The universe was said to have started this way.
And when the dawn comes, our night will fall away. We return to the world, don once again our masks, and take our place in the farce without an end. And we can only blow out the remains of our candles, bow on this stage and prepare to burn away.
The dawn is coming.
Someday we'll share this cigarette. And the smoke that we create will cease to linger in our souls, and will rise unfettered to softly kiss the night.
end
*
Note: Written for Mizuki Neige's Birthday. And also, I seem to have a penchant for cheesy summaries. Gah.
~Chris Cornell, Sunshower
Someday the world will forgive us our madness, and realize we are nothing more than two broken shells in search of meaning. We have reached the end, and the night unfolding before us does not turn black, merely the darkest, most somber blue.
We'll be remembered as unfeeling gods bent on destroying each other, our smoldering wrath enveloping everything, collateral damage littering our wake. They will first condemn us, then pretend to understand, and ultimately proclaim us as majestically tragic, worthy of a myth. They are weaving cautionary legends around us now, even as the cooling breeze begins to dry the sweat on your shivering back.
Share with me then this moment, this last dragging breath of smoke. Funny to think that we are ultimately held together by our dirty, bad habits. Had we remembered that are both nicotine addicts, would we have been less cruel, knowing that something else besides tragedy was tying us together, even something as laughable as a vice? I like to think we would.
This is the unvarnished truth: we are nothing, flickers of fancy by a cruel, capricious god. Much like the flickers at the end of our cigarettes that illuminate the dark, then disappear as quickly.
Cigarette butts will tell our life story, and ashes our mistakes. This is always the way with us, I think. In the end, the things that matter are the inconsequential fragments we leave behind, those that we manage to overlook. Now all that is left is the singed, forgotten smell of burning. Of the smoke that we once thought could hide us from the world. Now we can see how false our cover was, the fumes couldn't even conceal us from each other.
The night is laid out before us, and is turning darker still, until the moment comes that it could not contain its lightlessness and then collapse at the terrible weight of black. Only the dawn could give it redemption. Nothingness gives way to light. The universe was said to have started this way.
And when the dawn comes, our night will fall away. We return to the world, don once again our masks, and take our place in the farce without an end. And we can only blow out the remains of our candles, bow on this stage and prepare to burn away.
The dawn is coming.
Someday we'll share this cigarette. And the smoke that we create will cease to linger in our souls, and will rise unfettered to softly kiss the night.
end
*
Note: Written for Mizuki Neige's Birthday. And also, I seem to have a penchant for cheesy summaries. Gah.
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