if you pull the blind halfway up, you're only seeing the city.
you only see the death and destruction that's been brought upon us, the desolate carnage that litters the sooty land, the slashes of blood of our people, and their slaughtered, blackened bodies strewn across our home.
my dearest, that may have been hard to bear, but there is so much more to the world as we now know it. if only you had seen it.
if only you had only pulled the blind up all the way, you would have seen the hopeful pink and crimson red swirl of the sky, and the promise of a better future that came with the brink of the limitless horizon.
If only you had pulled that blind right up, you would have seen it. you would have seen us, soaring towards you, hand in hand with the creatures of the sky, giving hope to the land.
If only you had pulled that blind up, you would have seen that not all was lost. we were coming, for you, for them, for the city.
But you didn't. you took one glimpse at your city, our city, and lost all hope. and so, believing all chances of redemption were gone, you walked away from the window, and turned to the silver noose hanging from the ceiling.
if only you had seen, if only you'd had even one peek at the heavens and skies above, you would have seen me. you'd have seen me, flying to your aid, to preach to you, my dearest friend, that not all was lost.
but you didn't. and so, in a manner of urgency, when I finally reached your window, metres from where you hung, seeing your body limp as a corpse, my fists pounding on the glass, screaming bloody murder,
it was too late.
too late to tell you of the redemption that was to come for the city, for us, for you. too, too late, for you to live to see the day our city rose.
oh, my dear friend, if only you had pulled the blind up.
if only.
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