the colors chase us. time’s precision spoils us. for all the truths we’ve missed. 

winter invades. quiet, yet profound. 

it’s colder than it’s ever been. 

i counted the colors. i chased the sun. as flesh abandoned its bridges. and the flood overtook us. 

she danced in her stale dress. to music no one else could hear. she laughed from her shallow pulpit. while the structure of the world collapsed.

it’s not the precision that wrongs us. it’s not the quantity that we grieve. we’re monsters without claws. we’re predators with broken fangs. 

posturing for the hunt. 

it’s a tumble down a steep hill. it’s a raindrop in a torrent. we’ll always be lost. it’s only ever been about what we find in there. 



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