Wednesday 4/01/2020 12:02:00 AM

the earth moves under us, yet we struggle to run on it. I begin again. weaker still. coddling aging muscles. as the miles thunder in my head.

the cold remains. a lingering sore gnawing on otherwise healthy flesh. the darkness is artificially shortened, but still, the light is absent.

flesh simmers. a slow boil. all kite strings and wind. in the arrogance of our choices. incinerated in the pull of the sun. the flowers bloom. the trees open. still everything about us is barren.

time whispers. an ambiguous villain in the stories we steal from chance. all stale bread and burnt sugar. as we pretend to connect.

we run. as if the distance can save us. but the closer we get. the farther away it is.

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