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We made a blood oath...

and yet the promise of it dissipated with the conversation I often expected.


As much as I’d love to over-describe, as some might expect me to, the weight of how I feel while concocting the narratives of Univerza, my writings mislead me.


I might say the campfire stories I told, which wrote themselves, are but a light in a pitch forest as I meander away with a drunken smile no one could see. Of course, by the time I do not feel the warmth of voices and the periodic fire crackles, I am lost. That is, I happily wandered away from those sort of works without a destination and without the knowing that I should have a destination. Then, it is too late. The world I wouldn’t see would grow cold and drenched in condensation. But the morning would save me, because after all I had only wandered away at 4am.

Thirty minutes until sunrise.

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