i built my own fortune cookie and it tasted just like gold. it had perfect chocolate swirls, and butterscotch mint furls. it sang to me a lovely medley within which it had hidden a most glorious of treasures. tales of wealth and bitter poor; tales of stuggle and detriment; tales of things that could not be seen, but oh how great they taste; tales of fighing, stuglling upwards just to fall again; tales of determinations that feared no deathly mountain climb; tales that spoke of bitter days to come, that would consume all pain; tales of joy beyond all mirth, triumphs too great to fully comprehend; tales of ups, then downs, then ups again; great tales of never ending, never stopping, never giving in; tales of miseries that felt like hopes, and dreams that felt like nightmares. this fortune rang, it rang so true. i held it in my hand - today, tomorrow, a year from then and back, just like last month and the weeks to come - i grasped, i grasp, i hold on to it so tightly. it speaks of greatness beyond all lies, and i'm never letting go. i built this fortune cookie, i bulit it all my own, with golden times and silver dreams and platinum hopes that shall not die. go make your own, but don't touch mine. i created it all my own.