We live in the mausoleum of history. We inherit the legacy of ghosts who haunt these ruins. The elders call us “the lost generation.”
I remember stories of a glorious civilization. Of cities with spires that reached the sun. Of a blue planet with vast seas. Of people with myths of humanity everlasting. Of children who saw in the embers of dying stars the destiny of their race.
We live in the mausoleum of history. We inherit the legacy of ghosts who haunt these ruins. The elders call us “the lost generation.”
I remember stories of a glorious civilization. Of cities with spires that reached the sun. Of a blue planet with vast seas. Of people with myths of humanity everlasting. Of children who saw in the embers of dying stars the destiny of their race.
Sir this used to be a Wendy’s.