You Prefer Not To See The Gears

He Turns And Walks Away, Moving So Quickly That The Candle Flames Shiver With The Motion Of The Air. “i Miss You,” Isobel Says As He Leaves, But The Sentiment Is Crushed By The Clatter Of The Beaded Curtain Falling Closed Behind Him.

That's The Beauty Of It. Have You Seen The Contraptions These Magicians Build To Accomplish The Most Mundane Feats? They Are A Bunch Of Fish Covered In Feathers Trying To Convince The Public They Can Fly, I Am Simply A Bird In Their Midst.

I Do Not Like Sitting Idly By When Something Clearly Isn't Right. I Feel... Not Trapped But Something Like It, And I Don't Know What To About.

They Are Enthusiasts, Devotees. Addicts. Something About The Circus Stirs Their Souls, And They Ache For It When It Is Absent. They Seek Each Other Out, These People Of Such Specific Like Mind. They Tell Of How They Found The Circus, How Those First Few Steps Were Like Magic. Like Stepping Into A Fairy Tale Under A Curtain Of Stars… When They Depart, They Shake Hands And Embrace Like Old Friends, Even If They Have Only Just Met, And As They Go Their Separate Ways They Feel Less Alone Than They Had Before.

The Most Difficult Thing To Read Is Time. Maybe Because It Changes So Many Things.