Ex Idolo, Thirty-Three
As much the end of things as it is the beginning, this blooms quietly, no Phoenix fanfare. Instead, the low hum of crepuscular anticipation. Dawn breaking on the other side of the world. When the sky descends to embrace mountain peaks or to mirror ocean waves on a December morning. It is a dark street only recently abandoned, its revelers retired to an upstairs room. The footsteps of one last man echo throughout the quarter. He’ll make it to her before the mist clears and the first light rounds the corner.