an open line; a tenuous whisper.
silence swells and breathing hitches and intentions swirl like leaves in the wind.
the blank canvas of our silence is primed with contrition
our labored breathing runs in red rivets
down, down, down.
truths – unbroached, lies – unuttered.
we have bathed ourselves in the feeling that we can’t go on…
…that we must go on.
in my dream you sprawled in front of a fire and lamented:
“there once was a girl who fell from space
her legs unhurt she joined the race
but in the end
the race was my head
and now I can’t leave this place.”
it’s a long fall to the place where clinking bottles and crackling flames inspire your musings;
I’ve always been afraid of heights, anyhow.