we were so small. knots in the seams between now and then. condensation on the gears as speed negotiated with the wind.
trembling keys waiting on all the frozen locks to thaw. addicts with nothing left to want except the bottom.
time remains weightless even as gravity expresses its rage.
we steal moments of sober from the pauses between our grief. peering through the curtain. even as the window refuses to open.
all our pages spent. their fickle words snickering. as we fumble with the transitive tenses.
we were thieves knocking on open doors. we were orphans trying on each other's faces.
naming our monsters. counting their claws.
gripping the corners so tight that we broke them. running so fast that we couldn't see where we were going.
building our machines from melted candy and broken pencils. picking at the scabs on fresh wounds. overwhelmed by the density of our contrition. shuffling our boulders. as the climb measures our endurance.
counting every footstep as the distance betrays us.
time comes in doses. a stringent medicine.
we die so much louder than we live.
but who's listening?
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