True stories are seldom told. Be bold enough to lie. Design a better world in which these words may reside. It's just the empty page and I. What voice may speak of our works? What mind may inquire or pause? What meaning is there to our coming together, the writer, the reader, the thought? To connect the ties that bind. To inspect what we redefine. To say just once more what has doubtless been uttered an innumerable amount of times. To say that you are just fine. To tell you that your mistakes are the result of foolish rushing and you saved me just in time. We're here to see who dropped the ball. It was New Year. It was time. Good job on that explosion kid I was feeling so confined. Those errors adding up and up have left no road to roam but 1. The road to where we choose to go no matter from whence we come. Lies themselves are bold. Face the stories that are true. And turn your back on words that lack a place for me and you.