Here is a random thing I wrote about, as the title mentions, the separation of silver boys.
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We had built fortresses of our dreams, each brick cemented by our brotherhood and our friendship. The late nights were the coldest
The arguments we had shook up our foundations but never broke them. Every dispute was a mere tremor among a thousand clapping hands, drowned out by the cheering and hooting. There was nothing that could stop us.
But glory doesn't come to those who deserve it the most; glory plays a waiting game and appears when you least expect it, and oftentimes when you least want it. It surrenders itself to you only when it's arrival will be bittersweet, only when the moment's too sour to enjoy and yet too desired to be rejected.
So I celebrate. This is what I wanted.
Part of the dream was to debut together. It's seems as though we were played like a novelty, our brotherhood was an easy target and we were made reluctant gladiators in a stadium that was shone up like a burning star.
The spotlight was on us but still we could see no light.
Our backs were burning from the heat, our shoulders heavy and sunken from the weight of the burden, but our hands were clasped together and the trails of sweat were all washed away in the same river. That made everything alright. We did.
Maybe not everything, we still had our own struggles, but we were together and that was enough.
It was almost enough;
