Everyone has an egg somewhere, but none so unique as mine. I laugh as the grounds become slimy and slick. I joyfully juggle my egg of gold - this invincible sphere - as the dull, weak, brittle eggs rain in starlets amongst the floor.
Juggle and juggle and juggle some more. In no way shall it meet the floor. Up it goes just one last time. Alas, with great sorrow it did slime. Here now in each hand I hold two golden crowns. No longer united, they have spilled their meat. Upon closer inspection I find that they are not encased in gold at all. It was white, dull, and brittle. Why, oh why have they lost their luster? What power or force has done this to me? Perhaps the two crowns may join once again. Surely it is possible. It must be so.
In each hand I hold shattered memories and dreams. Now I see how others see. For most it shall stay broken in a state forever lost. Perhaps, for me, it is not eternally gone. It can be fixed and its contents restored. Only time can dictate such possibilities. Oh, I so desire to hold that golden egg once again. That glittering, invincible, golden egg.