words, fragments,
pieces spilled with ink and paper and thoughts and all that we make.
tinny, echoing,
long forgotten in the din of chatter and love and all that we crave.

the secrets
of the universe are not ours to keep.
they come, fleeting, they stay for a moment.

They leave.

The machines
of the universe are ours to use.
we write, we sing, we listen, we cry, we laugh, we

we
in the pages of this manuscript
in the notes of this melody
we are forever.