I, is a terrible way to start a sentence.

There is a sad point, along the road of the cynical. That frozen choice that has one road once come across. To play one's life as a game, and win her cold. Or, to forget, forget, forget and lose her with honest hope left dripping out; eyes, ears, nose, mouth.

To wake and wake earnestly with the day. The sunlight beckons "you believe in me." Be a apart of this, this real life. Without dreams or second-thoughts as real as the sun on your face, as the world I illuminate. Prison in your eyes.

The luxury of vertigo, of confusion. A gift from her highness. The moon, dear Luna I love, love, adore you. Prettier than your sister a hundred times too. Let me escape into mystery, into the love of stillness and questions. A fleeting kiss, may I ask? Before I wake again, remind me there is more.

And then, there is you. The last light. So quick to claim what they squabble years for. How I detest you, but ne'er so quick to fear. Absolution. A break the moon could never offer. A breathe the sun never spoke. Here's to leaving with a smile. You will win me darling, but promise me you'll fight for it.

I for it all, am a hypocrite.