and one day all will pass, swiftly by. like the times we sink confusedly into sleep and surface seconds later in the shallows. breathe, and release. repeat, risk, rise cresting chest sharply and…
it is still possible to detect the sense, your distilled essence, in cells merged with cottons. and breathing deeply in, replaying over and over. this is what happens when. when the edges between our clouds start to blur, and halves confuse over the side to which they belong.
a stranger’s strange stare, looped into infinite repeat.
why do we tear at our souls so; but only whence pickled in the briny blue?
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