I imagined myself falling. the tether of gravity weak at best.
I saw the end in blunt numbers and random choices. everything once small growing much too large.
The names. the faces. the scents. a kaleidoscope of determining what is lost. and letting go of what's been taken.
Nothing is ours after all. It's all borrowed. Slender threads and tiny needles. Chasing the fragile seams that connect us. In a world where nothing is permanent.
we wear our circumstance in dirty trench coats and broken umbrellas.
searching for something we know we must have. though we don't know exactly what it is.
toting our picnic baskets deep into the woods.
undeterred by the wolves.