For Wise, may he ever find his way back with the stars to guide him and the night air blowing in his sails.

The problem I have with good advice

Is honestly quite longstanding

Like a shooting star streaking across the sky

I’d rather crash and burn up in the atmosphere

Than admit when I need to let go

There are a number of hills I will die on

But you’ve rather convinced me over time

That it’s much better to live amongst the stars

Than be cut to pieces by the communication gods

When we meet again

At the restaurant at the end of the universe

I think you ought to know that I’d draw the sword

On my back to defend what you and I have

I’d guard you for as long as you’d let me

I’m bewitched, you see

By camping, lit up balconies and mulled wine

We were never meant to be Eternals

But then again

In all truth we both know

It’s a hitchiker’s galaxy

We just live in it

With all my best,

Marie Athena