Once, in another world, a thirteen year old girl wrote a poem: Like a disfigured child —in a transfigured room— who looks out upon beauty’s last realm through an imagined window… virulent things with superficial smiles —holding onto fallacious truths—…

In a city of mages, guild slave Lysium dances every night, magical stars drifting from her hair that whisper veiled persuasions into the minds of those watching. She’s married to Loren, also a guild slave, who keeps secrets he hopes…

Let’s dance through life, our love aflame, In flame, my soul tattooed your name: Your brilliance scrawled across my heart Awakened every lonesome part. No space for doubt, no ‘left to chance’, We leap, we dare; we soar, and dance.…

Right now I’m sitting in my flat listening to someone in a flat below mine belt out the lyrics to an absolutely unrecognizable song. Which got me to thinking about how some–oh, wait, now there are multiple people who can’t…