creative destruction too beautiful to fault until ashes (and even then all I want is a different ending or none at all). silent sunrise that you can’t hear but you can feeeEEEEL elsewhere. the hum of existence and how you always danced around it and coincidently it never lined up for me. self is such a strange concept that sometimes I forget and other times it consumes and I am sorry so sorry. what are you if you aren’t always discovering? what is she when there is a cost? what would she have been if rewind and stand outside to see truth it’s like looking through a kaleidoscope what is the magnitude? axiom this is called spring and I’m through wasting it.