The blur slows to a stepping stone, gargantuan mass suspended in the air. Balanced on a knife edge - a day above, a night below. At numerous intersections, right-angle horizons, landscapes beyond the glimpse of the marrow of their own unfolding links, marked on the concrete by points of access to gas pipelines and sewers. A day forced into a fraction of a second, perpetrators unaware of the pace of longevity. A face torn forcefully from the roots and coveted like sunlight, and a choice, now those moments were separated, to protect them from that which it neutralized when it was whole, the creeping darkness beneath now open to spread.
The future is heavy. Some would say heavier than we could hold - save for an arched back and split second grimace - before our inevitable crumpling under its unfathomable weight into darkness. We know this not to be true. One has to wonder, however, if what we hold could in turn hold us. If we ourselves are the wild path to be cleared, or if, in some twist of fate, the child in which we invest becomes a child as it learns of our fate, and chooses escape.
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