The lights fall 

And my eyes turn inward, watching

As bits of pieces of fantasy turn to 

Mist. 

Credits roll, and I am reminded of 

A time when I could believe that this 

Was the future, and that beings

Were made of light and 

Diamond. 

But as my feet dig into the shag, 

As my body carries itself not on 

a lightbeam, but on the sturdiness of 

the ground beneath me, it becomes

Apparent that I am not that

child anymore. 

The years have passed and flitted

Through my palms, and now, 

I live not within fantasy but within

the coolness of hardened magma. 

I step into the rain. My eyes widen 

again as I let the current flow anew, 

no longer bouncing inside of the

frame of a television screen.