Photo cred: Tumblr
April 2, 2019
I’m writing to my next flight.
I’m also fighting in place of another’s fright.
Yours; assuming insecurity with sweaty pores.
Like boarding ahead the others.
Pores that rain curiosity, blindly compared to others for his monstrosity.
The days of our travel take the age out our trust, and people upon our return can tell the difference. In communication with others, they seek peace as well. But they seek it in a place we don’t quite see on Earth. They seek a peace that forever secures their happiness; meaning the question alone tells us they may not trust us. Like my father, there are chosen ones put in place to get a job done; until death they are told, but at some some point they see they’re untouchable. Bearing a side unrelatable to most people. But the short tasks in itself deem them unforgettable.
My father never reminisced his birth place, after his, “…fuck that place, home is not a place, just a mere thought in space..”, rant that became the beginning to an end.
We Buzz-Lightyears of society, masters of travel and time, whom are also into the oblivion, fix shit. Information from tomorrow is put into the intelligence of the people. But knowing the people of Earth had to all concur with safety and love for life, meant trust would be priority. So, to work they went. And death too I had to repent. The return of the Ambassadors meant the others existed. But where art thou?
The one’s that responded at one point were symbolic, and were not heard clearly. However, those entering as cadets of time likely understood them immediately. We knew who would make it. And Port Avanti was the best city to build the beacon in….