Unfolded feelings of new, new and new. What's missing, of course. Or the unfound fabric of failures, tried and dissolved. There, in fossils. Education calls it many things, the opportunities for tomorrow. And what came about as sand in the microscope. Pen marks and folded paper. Never being ready. Squinting and ashamed but blearly, brave before succumbed exhaustion and what's hiding under floorboards. The stories had to be handed down, and there are so many sounds of trees. So many sounds of people. What carved out of time's gulf in plasma and energy. Candles and lightbulbs for the steady eye to follow. Our own helping hand. The further each page presents as a ladder in a barn. Daunting, if detracted by the knowledge of fear. Where humanity slips its grasp on understanding. Bolted doors. Trials of fire and folklore. How we raised our children from ashes, to return and tell. All the sadness, and the stub of maybe. And the second thoughts always fighting. Call today with closed eyes and you'll begin to lose.
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