Hold me to some sort of formulaic space
A fluidity contained and moving, but not evaporated.
I don’t like the air. I won’t go.
Hold me to some sort of formulaic space
A fluidity contained and moving, but not evaporated.
I don’t like the air. I won’t go.
Wooden memories in the mist, until I find myself there again.
Seeking a quiet frame to get lost in.
I didn’t understand, and because of that I couldn’t see you.
All I knew was the current of fear, a choice to be swept up in this lack of rationality.
Missing the complexity, my large body terrified of your small one,
your entire existence gone in one decisive moment.
How powerful I was. How afraid.