Ten years is a charm.

Past is not a ghost. It is the angel, smiling with a broken heart. They were the air, the fire, the nightmare.

Looking backward through the dark midnight, they were there, glittering with the dimmest memories.

Bravo! To the smart liars and silly fools, surviving the invisible battle.

Fairytales no longer sell. Where have the children been? They were drifting away, with no way to stop.

At the end of the day, the possessed let go, the oblivious last. Who had feasted on the flesh of Youth?