In Memorandum- Moore

Let it be known then that she lives, but in a form so uncouth for a sane world as our own. At this time the demons of the past and the specter of the future mixed with the unspeakable confusion of the present all cast lots for her very soul. Perhaps grace then was her only hope, much as she can now only hope for grace. How fantastic a story for those who know better, how terrifying a tale for the ones who flirt with the same blurred realities that are so carefully pressed upon us. Maimed from the start? Feared into a corner? Broken by a heart that was never meant to be tested? We pray then for a schism from the divisions that paint everything gray.
I can not find such a model that would fix you. A free pass from collapse alas you are already sent low. Far be it from the casual observer to doubt you found your fate, or is that just a soothing thought then that they are high, dry, and middle-class. Altered and numb, stretched and scattered, lines are atrophied and divisions are blurred. Hurried and depressed, broken and lonely, prophecy is self-fulfilled and hope is what she made of it. Cast her off then and send her to heal. In memory we remember her and with tears do the companions recollect a time not so far before. She is weary let her rest. She was hurt now she is free. History is what she made it,

Faster than fiction and quieter than peace this never ending story is true and can not cease, falling ever slower and gaining hope

Into the blue that quickly turned to gray. From stable earth to unstable nothingness. Between me and the cold vacuum of air is a frail shell and the prayers of many. But trust is easy in our able pilot who flies blind but trusts what his mechanisms tell him. A burst of speed and then a vault into an indomitable realm of confusion and rain. Would it be strange if I felt peace at this time? How does one enjoy the ride when in such a precarious void?
Continuum