If I’d known, it’dve been different. But that’s never the case. Instead, the moment swallow us and we’re lucky to be left still standing, grasping with vain at the air of empty promises–the taste of God lingering on our lips whilevisions of what never was leave burning in our eyes amidst the smokey haze of a last night. And even in the falling of a cleansing rain over streets paved in the ghostly yellow hue of forgetting, the memory remains ’til in the morning we return and, for three weeks at least, leave behind the thought of what might have been.