quixotic tilting and nothing else to see
i am tired, but lately i feel as if I can’t hear the song anymore, the eternal, light, passion, bloom on the cusp of the future, copse and bower, blue water, and footsteps in the mud washed clean in the stream, and remember, remember
i remember all those stories about friends being the family you can choose, but we forget, or maybe we knew all along, that if we can choose, we can abandon for fickle reasons – and is this better?
and maybe my mistake was: this is a world build on trust; if you trust the data or your friend is telling the truth, and you’re more likely to succeed; or maybe my own madness is catching up with me, as I type to ghosts from behind a curtain.