changing while softly slipping.
constantly moving with never enough room.
ending right in the middle of beginning
and always, too soon.

we feel nothing for the shapes of things.
we dive down in search for our wings
but first,
a few more hours of circling.

a spoonful of memories is all we need now.
better than handfuls of dust
or hinges with rust
anyhow.

draw us a picture without any clues,
and we'll sing you a song
describing the news.

come one
and come another,
but dont tell anyone
for they will be a bother.

there will be fresh secrets for all,
and nothing to remember or forget
provided one answers the call.
albeit, maybe none is met,
and we actually do forget.

what are we supposed to mean
when we are believing when we should be doubting?
what a scene
when it is actually seen.

isn't a bit freeing
when you're forgetting?

but why do i always remember the ending the best?