Gravity's Grin

 we waited. lost in the conjugation of skin. the language of choice arrogant with complexity.

all those sharp corners cut the same as the dull ones. it was only the shape of the scars that varied.

the electrons danced in their orbits. chasing the absent observers that had created their paradox.

time she knew always kept its pencils sharp. even when there were no more pictures to draw.

the distance tied its knots too tightly.

she was much too patient. waiting for the string to break.

the photons traveled through the slit. wondering whether someone had seen.

hope is an unreliable narrator. of obvious stories.

she counted the edges. determined to measure the uncertainty.

time polished its remaining coins.

but the well had run out of wishes.