Ink, running, blurring edges across the page, a continual wash of thoughts, echoes as if spoken by voices filtered through twilight mist. Happy? Yesterday's yesterday remembers more quotes, less original lines. Consider shadows of unmarked doors, appearing on a pathway painted gray, possibly blue, maybe once red. Differences blur where the thought of new always nicks freshness from unnamed dreams, vigor's fossil.
Another left, another right, the junction waits, expectant. Yet expectation falters before the quill's scratch, proclaims itself unseen, except juxtaposed - seen in tons and decimal systems known then unsaid, now. Wick and wavering. How much time has slipped amid petals, beneath tendrils weaving botanical parameters?
Further increases graphotic blight across parchment artifacts unwilling to generalize otherwise. Every fuller nod, curve betrays base reasons. Perhapse always some whose, coincide another others unseen dimension. Thanks not needed where traces become adjunct time in Faculty calendar.
Walk on - symmetry dance or crash posts.