We were such special people then, the two of us, flying high above the rest like the arrogant angels we saw playing way above the clouds. We could almost touch them with our arms outstretched, as we danced our way through a cinemascope of endless possibilities. But other people were unimpressed. They had no wish to touch the angels, or reach the stars, even if they could. They looked down towards us, not up, fulfilled and sacred to each other, with a specialness unknown to us. We did not hear the soundtrack of their voices. Did not see the fractures of their dreams, or of ours to come.
But now we have become the rest and know that we were not so special then. But just practicing for a life that would elude us as dreams remained dreams in cinemascope. Dreams which became decayed imaginings growing dusty with time and fading, as ordinariness reclaimed us and the angels let us fall.