Last night (although I have to admit that time plays many tricks on me these days), I went to see the annual fireworks in my town. Braving the crowds and waiting hours ahead of schedule, I was joined by probably everyone between the ages of 16 to 30, which was an interesting enough thing because it gave me some ideas for a story, but otherwise my interest in fireworks has waxed and waned over the years (having had enough of them at the many, many times I went to see them in the glorious displays in Coney Island Summer).
They were still nice, though, but I think that melancholy has started to seep into too much when I see these sorts of things.
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| Night falls and it will soon begin. |
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| The sky is alive, it is brilliant, it is now, it is always. |
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| there are stars but they are not stars |
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