In the Studio
“Only after I am made a fool do I see it...or even think it's possible.
My tenderness is spontaneous.
But not the world, no not the world.”
“Like splits in a path, fractured and crawling as a web, the choices map my story.” As time passes, my solid memories are dislodged from themselves. They start to float free in the level of possibilities. Some may call it forget. I may call it selective remembrance. Time shapes things like the gentle trickling of water. Steady and predictable. Constant and pure. Inevitable and powerful. Plate tectonics are real, but no-one can feel the plates shift. Even the ones in earthquakes can't believe what they experienced was real. If I went back in time, would I make the same choices...
“Cut open to the Glory. The poignant insides that claim me. The loyalty that erupts. When she looks at me I want to be my best self.”