What is and what isn't because it's yet to be, the blink-long present and the possibility—here they are, tracing the same curved path around each other, each time coming closer and closer, set on colliding. Every inch of the journey anguishes, every trace of consciousness burns—running while knowing running is all there's left to do, and there's no finish line 'cause the end is but the start of something new. Maybe it's all about looking for ways to explain—why someone can be always absent while perpetually being here; why you insistently phrase your thoughts as questions; why I go back to the same places where I once was and where I once wasn't because I was yet to be, the blink-long present and the possibility (...)
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 9:23 PM UTC
What is and what isn't because it's yet to be, the blink-long present and the possibility—here they are, tracing the same curved path around each other, each time coming closer and closer, set on colliding. Every inch of the journey anguishes, every trace of consciousness burns—running while knowing running is all there's left to do, and there's no finish line 'cause the end is but the start of something new. Maybe it's all about looking for ways to explain—why someone can be always absent while perpetually being here; why you insistently phrase your thoughts as questions; why I go back to the same places where I once was and where I once wasn't because I was yet to be, the blink-long present and the possibility (...)
