Long drives in your mind get you thinking about what's left behind.
Open roads of bones, varnished in memory detritus.
And together, these years, like phosphates, instill in us
such strength that we are capable of fabricating moments
beyond the complexity of time.
If there was a way to express longing with teaspoons of gratitude and
mouthfuls of everything I've ever wished there were words for,
I'd build a road through the din of modernity straight into the
atrium of the unseeable, ever-lasting light, where, together, we
can finally fill ourselves with the deepest breath of tangled limbs
and raveled sheets; so drenched in concrete, so sure and so free.
I need to feel loved. My ability to navigate from low points could use a helping hand.
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