We bought tickets
to a ride with no map,
no brakes,
and no guarantee
the tracks were finished.
Up feels permanent
until it isn't.
Down feels fatal
until it isn't.
Numbers flash.
Floors disappear.
Fortunes exist
for an afternoon.
Outside,
they watch from a distance.
They call it stupid.
A bubble.
A scam.
A waste of time.
A waste of money.
Maybe they're right.
But they can't feel
the stomach drop
when the chart goes vertical,
the silence when it doesn't,
the strange joy
of owning something
the rest of the world
doesn't understand yet.
We came for the money.
Some stayed for the art.
Some for the people.
Some for the absurdity.
Somewhere along the way
we stopped asking
where the ride was going.
The chaos became the point.
The volatility became the pulse.
And being misunderstood
became part of the admission price.
One day
the ride ends.
Everything does.
So hold your coins.
Hold your JPEGs.
Hold onto the bar
when the whole thing shakes.
Look around.
Laugh.
You paid for the ride.
You might as well
enjoy it.