Why Is There Always One

. . . For A Lifetime Was But A Moment In That Place, And Each Man Dreams His Own Heaven. And In The Darkness David Closed His Eyes, As All That Was Lost Was Found Again.

It Was An Overcast Late November Morning, The Grass Splintered By Hoarfrost, And Winter Grinning Through The Gaps In The Clouds Like A Bad Clown Peering Through The Curtains Before The Show Begins.

Each Man Dreams His Own Heaven.

Without A Human Voice To Read Them Aloud, Or A Pair Of Wide Eyes Following Them By Flashlight Beneath A Blanket, They Had No Real Existence In Our World. They Were Like Seeds In The Beak Of A Bird, Waiting To Fall To Earth, Or The Notes Of A Song Laid Out On A Sheet, Yearning For An Instrument To Bring Their Music Into Being.

“you Don't Have Much Faith In People, Do You?” Said David. “i Don't Have Much Faith In Anything,” Roland Replied. “not Even In Myself.”