This is the past: a robust figure next to a doorway, warm caramel color exuding amidst the walls and the people in front of them. Snow descending, hot chocolate by the fire. Another figure by an elegantly lavished stool. Eyes spark, and contrast is united. Peace. Balance. This is the future: black earth, fertile with the decayed remenants of humanity. Warm caramel has burnt to a powdery soot, chocolate grew to hot... it spat out the love and gave way to hatred, deep and rich as molasses. This is what the future ground consists of, beneath my tiring feet. the remains of a since gone decorum, an overpowered empire. to think, to gaze at the past and think, that this glory will soon be tred upon like scum. As for the present: the present is unknown, I live in the past and dream of the future, but we only know with certainty one thing of the future: Power will die. Weakness will die. death awaits like a silent guardian, menacing and yet spectacular, the fear of a territory unconquerable thrills our imaginations.