Silently... broken fingers court the notion, painfully embracing the very fabric of your dreams once hopelessly lost, now... perhaps to find solace in those ghostly arms, enshrouding some misguided love, a marriage undertaken in the worlds between the waking and the midnight hour, you strain to see yourself pronouncing the sweetest of sacraments, a ring around the body brightens, unspoken testaments to purify the air, and you are there, tucked between a custody of ghosts.