It was easy.
Crafted by your hands, our future, a picture.
I fell into it.
You knew, didn't you, that I would sink into your madness.
That it was enticing.
Dialing back the voices screaming to be cautious.
I listened to you.
"Look at it, isn't it lovely, isn't it deadly?"
Yes, it is.
Salted, sweet, singularity, weren't you clever.
Large, lovely words.
Levers and trash and love. Inseparable.
I fail at lucidity.
At best, we once were, and at most, we never were.
Would that I believed myself.


Penned by my hand on the 18th of Daedalan, in the year 640 AF.