There is just no way that something so powerful and so beautiful could be abandoned.  Not executed, not used up until there is no more remaining, but actually completely and totally left behind.

When dealing with such beautiful forces it is hard to see it for exactly what it is—even when caught in the middle of it.  Especially when caught in the middle of it.  The hardest part is when you are the lone savior of it, so that you are carrying the load all the way, charging up the mountain at full speed with guns blazing until you look back behind you and see that you are alone in this quest.  And herein lies the contrast:  how in the world is this possible?  How can something so powerful and so real be so incredibly irrelevant?  Does that make it fake?  No.  Maybe.

This is the worst kind, the kind where your insides get butchered and your soul is further tethered away from its source because you don’t know what to think or feel anymore.  And what if it somehow comes around again?  Nothing.  Because the magic is gone.  The unseen forces that once lifted it off the ground have vacated and the craft has crashed and broken.  And to try and launch it again would seem quaint, like a bumbling idea made by a man past his prime who doesn’t understand modern times.  The glory days have ceased and all I have remaining is the rest of the path with gaping holes and unanswered questions that put forth in full faith are very perfect but still raw and uncertain.  We celebrate haunted houses once a year then the rest of the time try and keep them boarded up as tightly as possible.  In this case, you don’t even have to bother.  Which works perfectly because you won’t anyway.