solsticegypsy
Things remain separate for us. We never viewed our ideas firmly enough so we could help each other out, it all just . . . crumbled. Separated. Diminished. I guess this is how we must remain. Sorry, dad. We must remain separate.
Floating upwards, not a care in the world . . . in the heavens above I scour for these balloons. Why can't I behold their power? I wish to be shot up into the universe, out of this world to the unknown above us.