Distinction

I walk the streets with hands and fates
combined, entwined.
We stroll along with conviction soaring,
only to be torn asunder by the very future that befalls us.
They tell us to let go and empty our cups.
To dismiss this golden age we are enveloped in.
To accept the shinigami's, the death god's decision
To move on.

And before my eyes, an image imagined by imagination ignites.
A world of grief, without the cozy rainbows I once danced with.
There is medicine to keep us young, school to keep us relevant, and problems to keep us busy.
Yet there is someone missing.

Just like that, my eyes revert back to the present. With a hand in my own, and a feeling of warmth.
So we banish the shinigami.
We refuse the chance to change.
We do not move on, but move forward the way we were going.
With hands and fate combined, entwined.

We cannot falter, for the vision I saw is the only reality possible if ours fails.