We made our way through the motions. We speculated deeply upon outcomes, so as to foresee future events. Did they want me to be slain in the streets? Martyr for all of these ages.
I went through the streets of Copenhagen and had a vision. I saw the multitudes as mere illusion, and as a tell of events. We were at war with the world, and so they produced endless fantastical stories. We could endure it.
About love, I thought I found it in a woman I knew. All else was nothing in comparison to her sweetness. Albait it was just an illusion. But I made it real through establishing concord and control. I refused to see the illusion in her, and pointed always to the real.
We went through the ages, now older. This mythical world we lived in, where Biblical stories became real and endurable. Perhaps to establish fiction as fact. To cross stories mixed with delusion and hard impenetrable truths.
We just wanted to know her embrace.