decked in black feathers speckled with gold, i am but a dying swan. capsules and capsules of time, i'd like, to store pages of storybooks and rune letters and games; sips of roast almond lattes in a cosy corner, just whiling the afternoon away. who snatches my time, who dares? why, what's the precious offer, why the sacrifice?
...ah, but we do things, for sacrifice. we take care of our needs, with no care for our wants. but i know what i want! i want this: this and this. and i chose this.
one day the gold will come trickling down, into my empty hands. my palms will receive them. i will yield coins and banknotes. of precious time. of precious money. of time and money. we need both.
one day my time will come, to look up at the sky, and smile.
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