The moon, trapped in the vortex of gracity, cannot escape the pull of this world; yet it cannot reach the object of its attraction, for the moon endlessly attempts to fly its own course. Neither can I turn away from this place, this feeling, this life; nor can i take hold of it, for i waste away, pursuing shadows.
It's own essence is the gravity pulling me towards itself. What more could i need? Yet the moon is stubborn like the tide it creates. I move in; i fall out; I patiently wait for the time in which i stop doing what what i shouldn't do; I anxiously await the time in which I will start doing what i couldn't do.
This treasure grants me capabilities that are not my own; with it, I stand against the cohorts of enemies. But the most simple thought of it renders me a worm.
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