Yes, the sparks and all.
It begins with a spark.
A scattered glimpse like the brief recollection of a hazy dream. It’s a world comprised of flashing headlights on the walls of your room as the world slides past in a circus-inspired blur. It’s a promise that’s destined to be broken; a promise of something possible but as distant as the nearest star and just as unattainable. It’s pure and clear and perfect and completely unrealistic. It’s a detached ‘maybe’ that is little more than a siren song luring you into deep and uncharted waters.
The spark has less to do with a person and more to do with an idea, a concept. It’s a fever dream that scorches through you and burns you up from the inside out, but all it really is — when everything is ashes and embers — is a reflection of something inside of you, something you’re searching…
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