My cognition is visually-dominated in its entirety. Memory, learning, retrieval. Until the moment things break, we have a nasty tendency to assume that everything we take for granted is nigh invincible. Whereas...reality...was one of the first fragile occurrences I grew to learn, right alongside that other regular pounding inside my chest.
Accept no substitutes.
I feel weak in the knees from this early-knocking of the future. I was at peace, with the surety that you will come to pass in the far undistinguished distance, bearing little to no resemblance to a present past. But.
Cloudy thoughts beget cloudy eyes with cloudy anticipation. Is that how it works, in the small scale of things? Your colors haunt me, but not in the way of your ghosts.
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