for Morning is made
of mysteries and uncertainties
the hopes of beginnings
the risks of unknowns
the potential for greatness
or failure
~ -:- ~
The sunlight of a newborn Tag peeps through the window behind her and coaxes its way past the curtains, falling across a tabelle covered in sprawling wires and metal parts to touch golden strands of hair. A girl just shy of 18 years stands bent over her work with lips pursed, oblivious to everything but the stubborn bolt she's attempting to wrestle into its socket.
The phone rings from a few feet away, and she automatically reaches for it and tucks it under...
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