For when I miss your little faces
I run and run, I interlace us
I power through these tiny spaces
And mix them all in my own bases
Damn! These laces!
Mrs. Davis’ students were very special. They were told they were special on a daily basis. Their parents told them. The other teachers told them (as they should). Television presenters reminded them of just how special they were. The adverts in between the television programs they endlessly watched reminded them…
Final blog entry Rapture shuns remembering – like dreams when waking. Shared joy is not accustomed to explanation, an invention to measure lightness is yet to be discovered. But some dreams do stay with us, and are Blueprints of the Future. The time at the academy is one of them.