So easy to hear them once they say goodbye. Sitting on shelves shouting at you from behind the plastic for years. A legacy unheard, all effort and no reward. As if by magic they break the seal at the last possible moment, their effect unleashed, and the world realises. For a fleeting moment they exist entwined. And they float away from one another, two pieces in space. One returns to our world, the other to nothingness. And just the noise remains. Clattering on our souls in the four dimensions that we consume.
The masses make of it what they can. In an effort to do what they can to put it right. As if it will fix things. And those that did listen. The minorities. They tut and exclaim at the regretful many. A great is lost, they say. A great it was.
And we all look into the nothingness as the shapes inevitably recede into noise. To black. To white. Until the shapes that we recognised only remain in the burned out nerves of our eyes. A fading face.
And it is so easy to hear it now that it is gone. So easy to appreciate what we had. But we did appreciate it as best we could. It's just now we understand how.