Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Drying words

Until the ink dries, there’s still time to make changes. Like watching a heartbeat skip across a monitor. Waves of life creating and then destroying the shoreline.

There are many things that shine, like stars, and eyes, and the twitching glimmer of dying memories. I don’t remember what it feels like to be missed. Constantly remaking myself to fit the places where I don’t belong. Spaces too small for the baggage I tow behind me. Distance once a literal thing, now something I keep in a jar just to pass the time.

The vanity of damp words on paper. Believing they will live on long after I am gone. To be worn about someone’s wrist like the rings of Saturn or a goodnight kiss. Craving freedom all the more now that the ink has set.

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