They would be a duet. They would be happy. What is happy, anyways?

The breeze carried the music into the distant country plains, past the bullet trains, across the majestic cornfields and the Christmas tree farms. The music swept past the Georgia orange trees, the droning honeybees, and the shining seas of the Atlantic. It wafted past the London Pier. Young Britney wanted all of Nod to hear.

One day, all those who love in the society of Auld Lang Syne shall meet again. In the New City of the Burning Heart, there, the veil will drop. The arc of the seas shall finally know the skies. Day and night shall end. The clock tower will crumble. Time shall fly to the place of no more. For we were born for meaning. We were born to love. There, we shall all be together with all the lovelies ever known who chose mercy and kindness amidst the forget-me-nots and the countless stars.

Yet, happy are the pure of heart for they have known the music.

The Music blows wherever Music pleases, you hear it’s sound, but you cannot tell where the Music comes from or where the Music is going.