the sky stutters. the wind chokes. a slow race to the finish. where the ribbon has already been broken.
it doesn't wait. it can't remember. time is a predator. the moment kills and quickly devours us.
the miles surrender. ashes and tears collecting in the torn pockets of our want.
we're not alive. not anymore. just smudges on paper. empty pens stabbing the pages.
we're not here. nor are we there. the distance concedes. the journey is spent. wasted on the whims of open sores.