Sneaking mouthfuls of sky in the empty space between twilight and moonrise. Sleep drunk with middle-age, unmoored from convictions. The slow collapse of legacies into the ever-growing void of now. Watching, with mouthfuls of sobriety, from the eroding shoreline. Somewhere in the blast shelter, an unfinished books turns the pages of itself. The whole world building toward nothingness with fractal-minded dedication.
4:44 p.m. - 2021-11-04
Recent entries:
Not Short, In Short - 2021-11-18
Unstopperism - 2021-11-12
Five Musings - 2021-11-12
As Since Always - 2021-11-04
Return to Capricious Consideration - 2021-11-04
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