Its like saying goodbye
to an old friend;
the lines on paper that
always got
me by. Two pages left,
but hundreds already
down. I've manuevered
them specifically, to try
and hear a sound.
A shake, a shift, in the
faults. To maybe see what's
really left of what I
wanted to be lost. A
fragile, tiny factor, in


the "grand scheme", that
gets us so caught up.