Exiles in the garden, Saturn's lost children, we spin circles of hopelessness and deceit, spending our coin on the only thing in the realm that fades, the only thing that time can touch, false idols, golden calves and silver mirrors, offerings to ourselves that we may placate our own hungry ghosts with the promise of just one more, forgetting that the first one more was what got us here in the second place, slaves to a god that hears, understands, and doesn't give a damn, and frankly, it's enough, enough light to see by and love to live by and loss to put by, storing up dreams for a sunny day when the light blinds us and the loss finds us and we forget neither where we were going or where we came from but rather why any of it matters at all.
Believe me when I say that it does.
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