Through My Eyes

     We are spinning through the sky, tracing each constellation with our fingertips and feeling the very seams of the universe against our skin. We soar and glide through the tangled mess of the cosmos and intertwine our bodies with the ribbons of light drifting towards the darkest corners of the sky. We see all of time spread before us, each instance a square of yellowed film forgotten on the cutting room floor. Wars and battles swirl at our feet, mixing together in a multicoloured pool until it becomes impossible to distill the faces from the bloodied weapons littering the ground like plastic soldiers. The past, once so clearly defined by thick charcoal lines, is now smudged across the canvas of books and papers, unrecognizable to even the most expert of eyes. We see countries building monstrous towers that eagerly greet the clouds in a warm embrace, but when I look a second time they are lonely single blades of grass bending in the wind.