The frostbitten romance. Heart seizing, ventricles pumping ice water through the veins of the innocent. The icy pain dulls the fiery soul until it is merely a tepid reminder.
Barely alive. But at least breathing.

But the truly intrepid souls of this world will carry on, as idle complacency is a disgusting and vile creature.
Change abound, we leap forward among the passages of time and matter themselves. If the moon is the limit, we will find the stars of galaxies far beyond our naked vision.
Hopeful? Yes.
Dreaming? Yes.
Impossible? …
Do we dare even ask that question?
To even allow our minds the possibility of failure? Some would say that is the realistic thing to do. Perhaps it is.
But we are the dreamers. What is reality but what we make of it?
Whether we are lovers or fighters, barbarians or scholars, we are one.
We are the lifestream of the world. Our many beating hearts pumping soul and creation throughout this blank canvas of our lives. Paint a landscape. Paint a portrait.
Paint the abstract visions of a world we can only imagine.
And there, you will find all reason.