Friday 12/25/2015 03:26:00 AM

it's the same she said. all empty masks on missing faces. it's loud she thought. this ambivalent catastrophe. more than enough needles and a shortage of thread.

you can't ever go. you're just there.

the circle struck. a parable of conditions. gravity's stubborn harness pulling taut as her windmills came into focus.

it's different she thought. we only know for seconds and then it's gone. and we begin again. learning everything we had and lost.

it's sharp she remembered. a scab on the yolk of the horizon. the whisper of velocity in the ache of distance.

the impatient end spoils each of us. a temporary hysteria. a permanent loss.

the clean lines of surrender. the ragged triumph of panic.

it's close she discovered. even when it's not.

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