After the fall of the empire;

We went singing to the edge of the ocean in sheets of morning fog, and warmed our souls and our feet on the sun-baked sand. But the tide was always leaving us, pulling away our desires and scattering our thoughts like hollow shells washed on the beach.

After the fall of the empire;

We ran away from our childhood homes, chasing the broken train of the gypsy circus, and we followed the sound of a boy with a lonely guitar. At dusk, the dancers gave us painted masks and shiny, plastic fortunes, but the sunrise told us sadly that we’d never quite belong.

So that after the fall of the empire;

We huddled in the dark bum corner of the city, where tourists blow their cigar smoke and shady glances, and we held hands around the swollen barrel of a ballpoint pen. We searched for the sky, but the buildings arched too low, like tunnels above our heads, and dripping warm with yellow spray paint stars.

And yes, after the fall of the empire;

We wound our way through the maze of the ancient forest, marking our path with handfuls of fallen leaves. And we kept our faces always forward – blind to the phantom shadows that fell from the tress – and we held our breath until we could reach the safety of losing ourselves. But even in the heart of that twisted darkness, we couldn’t escape the wind that carried the sounds of the world like a compass pointing us out.

So that after the fall of the empire, we had no choice but to live among the ruins and ash from the fire that destroyed the things we used to believe in. We built a castle there out of the courtroom glances and smiles from strangers and mostly from the comfort of not searching anymore. And after the fall of the empire, we found that we were free when we were laughing at our prison bars, and the sky rained meteors on our heads.