it was raining again.
she'd already engaged the mountain. and found the top less than spectacular.
there was a science to it she knew. though the intricacies were murky. there was time. like a needle looking for a vein to corrupt. to perpetuate its bitter wisdom.
she was walking. the traffic far below. she was too high. afraid to look down. and face the panic of skin and bone.
it's a carousel she explained. an economy of dead circles.
it was cold, but nothing was freezing.
her path narrowed. her maps conceded.
she finally arrived, but it wasn't the same place she'd been.
a rush of sober. simple heavens. soft enough to fool us. the fickle nature of paradise. the lazy arithmetic of skin. unravelling loudly. to the waning march of surrender.