The dead an injured accumulating over an hour. Backwards-bent elbows and collapsed ribs. The cost of learning the ribbons in a thousand-loss playbook. A twenty year hill looms in the memory of young adulthood. Blocking out the forms of tiny, unpainted figures with ragged ears. Somewhere in the foreground, diamond percussions and minor strings. Faces stitched with accidental glitter and the neon-pink paint of handprints. Nearly every little bit of it all as a distraction from dying dreams. Every hour, the marrow-deep saudade and mono no aware grows less benign.
4:50 p.m. - 2021-06-24
Recent entries:
When Learning Becomes Confirmation - 2021-07-15
Duracell for Life - 2021-07-15
As An Easy Gallop Upwards - 2021-07-10
Twenty Thousand Plus - 2021-07-10
When Four Means Less Than Nothing - 2021-07-10
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
Life-My-Way
Swordfern
Babyhead
Bridgecity
Blubbles
Murder
Secret-motel
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Frostopia