It was not the ordinariness. The pain of rejection. One night my lips touched the lips of moon, to soak the grief. Do not want to cross the threshold of guilts, like burnished armor taking the law into my own hands.
Waiting for a spacewalk of the gods to find the culprit, who escaped before your own eyes through the gauze of silver dust. To quit the ground or not was the cardinal point. You remained attached to the faded poster of childhood. It was a generational tragedy.