Papillon

Oh! To reach and find the other behind the veil of possibility. To hold oneself out, to hoist the person aloft, and, in that aerie spire, be received. All the eyes, their precious attention, time thief, harvesting finite moments of the indiscreet. Euphoria sustained, in this twilight of your middle age, feeding on the pliable fresh bud. "Fifteen minutes of fame? Nay, give me the succor only your turbulent youth can provide, aggregated forever."