dear world,

sitting atop some ruins on a hill, i see the clouds that go beyond what eyes can see. a light that makes pink our cheeks, a tingle that tickles the wind, and warmth. we are at war, world. i find myself questioning whether we can make it. you and i. i in you. please make room for me in your grey, black steel. our fires are the same, our blood is the same, and our lips, oh! sweet lips yearn for union. balance. moments smaller than a tear in our time. time timing time. and it is only in due time that we can tell whether we can live harmoniously.