I come to consciousness under the bridge of yesterdays. I wash my eyes with westward-stabbing daylight. The echoes of a thousand dead men sing the certainty of recollection. In that infinity of moments-- alone with the world-- I imagine your return. I am filled through the lungs with bittersweet longing. I hum along with the ghosts of ash-buried mourners. Every whippoorwill note vibrates with the frequency of a snapped heartstring. I watch each tone be carried away by a charcoal-besmirched dove. They all come back, brighter and whiter than before.
10:26 p.m. - 2015-02-11
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