We're living an elegant chaos, laughing as the ship crashes into the rocks. But we'll keep our eyes on the sky, and our feet moving across the hardwood floors and concrete basements of American's disheveled underskirt. And when we grow tired of the monotony of rambunctiousness, we will leave our homes and christmas light dens, begging for the warm breezes of summer, the warmth of fire, and the shadowplay against the edges of a lake all too familiar yet distinctly unrecognizable. We will howl summer's songs there, in the depths of winter, claiming the fire lived deep in our hearts the whole time and the smell of evergreens clung in our nostrils from memories long forgotten.

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