Why let go? I blame vertigo. Sinking into a gray hole labelled “me”… The past crumbles into murky memories and faded feelings. Gospels dissolve under my feet, gradually gaming gravity. Desperate for solid ground, my thoughts fumble and flail around.

A scant trace of a scent suddenly summons her memory. I demand from history: lend me her weight and let it anchor me. But this drawing, an adorning mirage in my abyss, is a concatenation of her display and my daydreams. And lately, I sense the stream of days washing its debris away from here.

So each one of these words, extrapolated, will fall flat, dry and impotent. And though these will drown today, the unborn floats around and won’t wash away.

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