There was times of simple prayers and simple offerings to beings beyond our comprehension. As mankind moved forward through technology and through science, we grew out of our simple ways and grabbed more for understanding, through truth and evidence. Our lives has been filled with doubt and the gods are nothing more than mere legends. They gave up on us, because we gave up on them. We are now left to our devices and ultimately our demise. The belief of someone or something there watching over us, is like telling a fairy tale. It's something as children we believe, to spark a light of little magic that we feel exists. We were pure and innocent. So naive and full of hope. When we grow, life disengages imagination in most of us. The trials of growing up leaves those visions of mystical beings, of creatures we'll never see--put away like an old book, on a shelf collecting dust. As we became more selfish, more corrupt, more greedy, and inhumane... the gods lost life in everything. The trees, the oceans, the animals, and even skies are at its limits now. As we in our mechanical constructs live on. Through the daily routines, we just merely...exist. However, there are a few who may still believe. That we are surrounded by a celestial force. It is as lonely as our empty prayers are. They will never come back. Never out of rage or anger. Or of longing and wishes. We as humankind are so far removed, that all we care about is wars, politics, money, and power. Never recognizing that they may have been there before, just waiting for us to believe in ourselves. To be that ear when no one else was there to listen. To be the comfort that empathizes with us. To be the hope that so many us have already lost. Where were you when you lost it? Did you ever regret giving up? Is it too late to go back? Fear will always be the vice that holds you back. From life, from believing, from dreams, and most of all from love. Do your best and live your life as fulfilled as you can. Cos all we have now are each other. Even if you feel alone, know that someone else is right there alone as well. Even when we pass, our remnants are marked on those around us. Like in old photograph or book on a shelf that's waiting for its pages to be turned again.