days start with clouds and a cold nose before saying yes again. most mornings blue skies triumph in the end, though I can feel the seasons rolling on the breeze that shakes my window. the sound of leaves crunching on the sidewalk is a memory of making angels in the gardens. we fed the ducks bread and watched them dive under the moss. autumn. the days will get colder and we’ll start wearing more layers. I need to find a jacket for the rain.
the flames on my phone paint a picture of hell I can make the choice to witness. I disappoint myself in chasing other avenues of focus bent towards myself. only stop to reflect on my apathy in the dark and quiet stillness before I fall asleep. selective compassion or self preservation? am I deciding when or is my empathy depleting? the schools burn regardless.
dreams take me places I can’t reach and I slide absently through my subconscious, in and out of consequence and feeling. spat out the other end back into a frame I tire of wearing every day. sometimes I remember where I’ve been, though words are never quite enough to tell the story as it was. we could say the same for anything. it’s all static anyway.
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