Sometimes, when I’m being tired, I like to raise a fingernail to light. Watch colors crumble from white. Rain. Like glitter. A flash, a reckoning, then nothing. So pretty.
Go on, go, tell yourself this doesn’t exist. Tell yourself it’s an illusion, light moving too fast and too slow and never enough.
Go on, move, and see. Rain leaves crumbles of glitter and you’ll miss it if you blink.
Blink fast enough, hard enough, you’ll lose it, to this terrible, vast featureless landscape beneath.
And maybe, in this place, where nothing is right and nothing is wrong, and nothing is bright and nothing dark, maybe in this place, you’ll be able to see yourself as a life and not a reflection of one.
A life and not a reflection of one.
Was it always in us to look only for the impossible?
Was it always in us to ask only…
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