\"Relentlessly, endlessly, we circle back to each other - friends and lovers and enemies in turn - because this is no one else, there will be no one else. Darling, if it were not so laughably tragic, I would dare to say you are the other half of my soul.\"
Albus & Gellert
(From pre-1899 to post-1945, with everything in between.)
\"We promised to share eternity, did we not, my Albus? Well, here lies our immortal future.\"
She watches him grow, her son - far more her son than either of the others - until she is no longer sure she knows him.
History is written by the victors, to their specifications. Not all of history fits within them.
These are those parts which do not.
Wings arc from your body as you begin to soar, rising and curving towards the sun as it filters down towards you through the ink-blue sky.
Water fills your lungs in a steady drip, drip, drip, and you are drowning instead.
|| FROGS 2017 Winner: Best Description ||
A conversation without end is like a sandstorm: it encompasses everything, swallows it all and whirls, whips round from place to place, set on a pre-ordained path it is impossible to stop and building - always building to a breaking point; the crashing thunder of an argument.
And what are wars but arguments out of control?
Immortality is as much ambrosia as it is poison: it is selfish, egotistical and all-consuming.
We fell; or rather, one fell - the other was already at the bottom.
In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.
- Dante Alighieri