It was once a place of worship to the pagan
moments of life. The awkward teenage years where
every pin drop is just a reminder of how lost I was.
Standing at the foot of the ruins of a belief that was
bombarded and destroyed by time and ideological
differences that spanned eons. Or seconds, really. Life
feels so long in order to squeeze the last drops of a friendship
that may or may not have been built with eternity in mind.
Perhaps it was, but if my time was defined by conflict, then
what we had was timeless so forever was not a part engineering
I marveled at but was never marvelous. It was beautiful
and defied expectation. Many gods of self, eroded and destroyed,
still standing on the sinking ship in the river styx, keeping guard
of the souls left to wake in the wake of a building that was
never meant for me. I thought the ruins were me until I realized
that I was the one selling tickets to the objects of my hourless
desires. This was the pantheon of friendly empires fallen.
Ideological pedestals never destined to be mine because
I was never a part of time. Only of it.