God answers the prayers I don’t remember praying. My prayers are just stepping stones to a better reality. If I die this year I’d feel that way about my last prayer. My bitterness will stop injecting itself into my fantasies. My butterflies grow obese because of the magic. I’ll keep trying to grow past all of this tragic. I’ll stop living everyday as if it’s already the future. It makes my Time Machine into a ready guillotine. My depression and happiness hug for the first time. They have not been intimate long enough it seems.