it's only time now

[two hundred, ninety-three]

And there isn't any going back now, fuck sentence structure. If there was a going back option it would be taken, but it just went. Fleeting, the feeling was quick but lingered for a long time and within the casing it continued to grow, well, it continued to change. It was change that did it, really, and yet, it did it on its own. We let it stay there, totally, and when we looked back at it it was sitting alone in the middle, pulsing, and it seemed to glow. Grow. Go away, and it went, fleetingly, a flight of fasting, a flight of petulance. And it was there. Let's take it away and hide it underneath the sheets, underneath the beds and the cupboards. Let's hide everything away so that one day, appropriate measures can be taken for revelation, recognition, for anxietal bursts of chemical burns and moist lips, shards of loss covering the floor in shades of grey. Time passed, missed time, and made up. For one day, or two, or a couple more one night sayings, let's just hide it away until we can.


jess