I saw the water and wondered how deep it was. I took the bridge and tried to determine when it would collapse.
The path was quiet and narrow. The end fussing to find its way back. A conundrum of idling engines and finicky detours.
The world arrives in shimmering floods. Too many intersections. Not nearly enough stops.
I count the cars. I calculate the the pedestrians. As the road swallows what remains of my arrogance.
The trees discard their leaves. The highway hums beneath my flight. The road writes its story in the places we've forgotten that still remember us. .
we dance with the obvious monsters. letting the wind determine how lost we will become.
we grow fierce on our pain. discarding everything that once made us weak.
the beginning is always ours. but the end always belongs to someone else.
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