Like wind we blow across the wheat gold grass fields,

Like water we flow in endless travel and tides,

Like fire, we rage and wage and hope someday a path is made for us to walk on, rest our feet upon, call our own. 

Like a child, we gaze at the night sky, wishing upon a lone star that the pieces will fit. The porcelain cup must break before it mends. Slowly, we find courage to show the cards we protect against our chests. And we fall without needing to be caught. And we step into the frighteningly exquisite. And we laugh at how easy it was.

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