Time - endlessly flowing - formless, fluid, and in the absence of context. The more I dip my fingers into passive meaning - the more my skin gives way - scars - loosens it's grip. She takes - then gives everything - as she ebbs then floods her possibilities - teasing - invoking. I lose the meanings - unlearn the rhymes - forget to remember - in a sea of melancholy, enchantment, longing - pain. I embrace her wholly and reject her simultaneously - she's just a concept - too surreal. Is anything that is thought or felt real?