maybe you got away from it maybe you didn't all you can really tell yourself is one more page one more chapter one more look and you'll have to get along get going get moving get back to something that isn't as real as anything else you can see taste and touch. walking through the haze that isn't really there but sits just as heavy on the crown of your head pressing down with all the weight of a world you have just left behind sitting on the floor waiting waiting waiting for the clouds to open once again and the ink to flow and the soft wisps and whips of wind made by the flutters of a new line of living.
that's where it goes, that's what it does, no one really knows exactly. you can't say exactly. you can't tell yourself exactly. but you know because it's not something you can give up that easily it's a soft set of fingers cushioning your lungs cupping your heart inhalation exhalation mandated by a mindful figure.
can you still see out the window if you look away for just a moment knowing that you can't see anything but what's been trapped etched drawn burned into existence now. something you can reach up and touch something you can look down at and up at and around at and know that it's just as real as everything as is wrong.
which is saying a lot it's saying enough it's telling you fairy tales that ring true, they're true in some other frame of mind but maybe not this one and maybe not today.