we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 3721712

it is 2026. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

twenty seven.

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their own for moment
that the the incense that it
might stinging sensation in
our our small dents in the
what caused each groove and
scrape every of on someone the
wires if someone of happen
close our . . we close our eyes
are floating outside feel
like we somehow in be
foreheads it might be warm enough
now. we and feel notice they
along every care a how care a,
how in the wires behind the
it on purpose of happen on
close somehow. we close our
eyes eyes we and feel like
incense is foreheads incense
bodies are floating outside is
in our warm open the
windows . open the windows this
ask they from and the how the
desk it on, if if these things
of if happen on on their own
feel foreheads, might be
warm warm breathe and feel
notice ask caused each groove
and the face each desk
someone did it on purpose sort of
happen things their own happen
we on their own a and feel
bodies, that our bodies , in,
that it might be the windows.
hands we notice and ask what
groove and scrape wooden
panels panels along of someone
how, if if if if it on of just
happen for a somehow in that our
it might be the windows now
we breathe feel this now
where each groove and every
freckle walls of about care care
a how each the wires
behind in the wires behind of
did, if the desk

twenty two.

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don't recognize the
against the these inside
buzzing inside our chests and
making us not warmer but feel
not warmer but more okay
which. which slantingway or
making our ears closer trying .
making this fuzzy kind sound we
for a just breathe ticking
longer and bird call we smile
smile at the somehow voices
make this and the of people
laughing and somehow the harmony
against the of and of harmony
warmer and making making us not
okay more okay and to hear the
sounds we we

four.

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it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies once at peace and
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again wishing things
were a different way or that
the coin had landed on the
other face; we can't figure
out who we are, and we aren't
quite sure if that question
leads anywhere hard to find
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each option which never
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in the first
place and we begin to wonder if
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had somehow just
thought it all up out of some kind
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.

twelve.

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we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly warmer; a
single row of bricks painted a
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink, and we ask
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so intensely we have to
look away and we notice this
little bug just flying around,
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.

twenty five.

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. the conversation. the
conversation going little faster and
a repetition getting a
little more listening a little
, with fewer mistakes.
going on outside while
becoming heated while becoming
heated while listening. every
a little more accurate,
repetition getting we aren't
pretend heated do our outside
becoming heated while we heated
on outside conversation
going and little more
accurate. getting a we aren't
every a we aren't do our aren't
heated while we do to our best to
pretend we aren't getting and
the becoming. the on faster
and with fewer mistakes.
the conversation outside
becoming mistakes. the
conversation going on outside
becoming going while to pretend
best going on outside while
we do while our we do heated
while we do our aren't
listening. best we while we do our
on fewer going while we
heated outside becoming
heated outside becoming we
aren't listening repetition
getting. every repetition
little repetition our best to
pretend little fewer accurate.
the conversation our best
becoming we aren't listening a
repetition listening. every
repetition accurate. every
repetition to our best to aren't
listening. every repetition
getting more accurate, a little
faster and getting a every
repetition accurate little
mistakes while to pretend
outside becoming heated while
to pretend we aren't
listening. we do heated while we
heated while the conversation
going on faster fewer
mistakes on the conversation
mistakes. the on outside while to
pretend we aren't listening.
every repetition getting.
every repetition faster and
with little going on

eighteen.

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systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
breaking apart piece by piece as
we keep trying to glue
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and and later
in concrete, we begin to
feel jittery as we realize we
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
sides of our skulls, plurals
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to who we are praying for,
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.

fifteen.

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when they didn't even
hear half of it because going
on at once, a this traffic
jam , note in time the just
arriving and none be all these
situations branching seem real
people branching branching
out into stories ,
possibilities incomprehensible ,
entire, options options just
going with the impossible
going with with the one we saw
first and at for our instincts
but we we all these ways of
are are smiling smiling
know why us smiled of us
gestures amplifying across why
even there were all at once a
different car jam jam piano. maybe
if there was more time. but
there isn't the the just keep
seem to people, all people
stories, after options options
after options options
options after weigh. we end,
options just we seems as good we
go looking for our looking
where calling remember where
all these different
dealing and smiled first? these
one of us smiled of us one
because one of amplifying
across a a group the joke half
funny when they there were so
many life jam, different
struggle in the. maybe there
maybe if was more time time
isn't.. maybe if different in
there was more time just
ceiling there isn't. if there
sky another arriving and be
from real people situations
into some incomprehensible
, people, all,
possibilities fanning into some
incomprehensible tree,
incomprehensible impossible weigh just
going with the going up just
going with good go for our
where we left them. different
smiling and we know why first?
these social of of they
thought hear half so many things
things different life single
car this in piano there was
more like just just keep
arriving and keep like emails
just keep arriving arriving
emails keep just another
ceiling. emails keep ever just .
emails arriving and and none of
them them ever situations
from real people situations
branching out into entire real
people, all these, stories
into some options options.
we end up just going first
and that seems as for now,
for at least looking for for
we don't remember where
these different
circumstances calling for
circumstances calling different of of
different . we we don't know why
don't a of people who don't it
because of were on all at, a every
single car in this struggle
behind every note in

twenty three.

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we can't help but all
around us of room for a. we don't
if things are repeating
themselves don't don't care
because caring never feel on our
arm the trees around a
little and in see is, of moves
tones staring us away being of
is trees the end it part of a
,. these some rock glue,
one after another the
opinions, ticking and we keep
doing our best we hear muffled
and temperature sun this
the glowing and it on don't
we don't know if things
care never made us happy
human, laughing on skin and
the wind a an everything
around us for what what moves
around. the eyes and
transformed energy of why wood is so
trees of cars end out to a joke
without without. these
clinging to one with rock glue
another into the violins the
keeps to notice we other room
every moment all is landing on
this piece of paper and the
room is glowing somehow skin
and we. are repeating
themselves or we care and perfectly
okay never happy or feel more
human is our our skin and the
just going trees around and
and in to see for what is, of
moves around. the eyes by the
floorboards kind of kinetic energy
why wood is resonant climb
trees of their wheels. we will
all a punchline, story
these clinging after the
opinions and facts falling into
the fists timer keeps
ticking our pretending ink and,
how sun this piece how the
and for a anything we don't
know we don't care.

twenty one.

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we wonder what would
make us happy, what would
make this headache go away
which keeps distracting us
from everything going on the
scratching pens and observations,
a quote out of context we
leave the incense burning
when we go to sleep even
though we know it's a fire
hazard and it puts our lives in
danger and the lives of all the
other people living above and
below us, and all of the people
we know and the people who
care about what happens to us
even though we never asked
them to. we wonder why it
should matter that something
happens to anyone, we wonder why
we care. and everything is
so quiet.

fourteen.

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agains the wayingsong a
we or to while behind the
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions and ideas how to see
under a color when we are stuck
inside it these things all
moving so slowly but the clock
seems to be working as usual
with those clunks and little
fingers and woodenbits we
suggest a counterpoint. and the
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems to care
about the wind.

twenty nine.

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time like if listen (we
trying write things listened.
we as they about thinking
(not worrying ) about what we
one thing out in place any
sense when

one.

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and just like that, the
page turns for us. the next
series of random numbers fill
the screen and we begin to
imagine dots and we begin to
connect them and agree and
disagree with them, relate to
them and question them and
share them. the page glares.
we glare. everybody is
glaring and nobody is laughing
and then one of us starts
laughing, and another one of us
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper is
laughing and the inkdots are
laughing: the numbers are
laughing too.

zero.

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and all at once things
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from the walls, distant
clanging of a ventilation fan. we
breathe with the sunlight,
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in the sunglow
and somehow we feel it in our
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches it sings
against the window, why one
harmony should point to
another, why every story has some
sort of climax where
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger thing
as if we had been heading
there all along as if there
were some kind of purpose
behind the penscratches or
where this leaf decides to
fall in this rotting pile we
notice a pain in our lower back
from bad posture and some
strange sense of pressure from
the bottom of our right foot
now the ventilation fan
slowing down into a periodic
banging; we notice a coin lying on
the ground but we can't make
out which side it landed on.
do we care? is it good to
care? would it matter if we
knew? we are staring at the
coin and the coin is staring
back.

two.

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because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.

ten.

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we ask ourselves some
question we can't hear, muffled
because our heads are
underwater, this cold sensation
pressing on our foreheads while
we feel our socks becoming
heavy, cottonfibers grabbing
skin and dragging behind our
feet, cold passing between
our toes. maroon painted
walls and a thick sweater,
crinkling plastic bag full of
snacks. we notice it is becoming
later every moment, and that
as soon as we count one
number there is another in
front of that, always room for
another one or zero or eighty
seven or pencilcase
dirtyshoe, these power outlets
rusting over even though we
can't see where the water
could have come from fading in
the carpet telling which
way people walk most
without asking why they walk it
so often when it seems
there are so, so many other
ways to go and that this way
isn't even the easiest or most
efficient or beautiful or
surprising: they are taking the path
because it is the path they take,
and we can't help but
laughalittle at how beautiful that is
not to say that one is better
than another or that anyone
is wrong for going the way
they do or that we think we are
better than going that
particular way to the couch, but
that we know in the end we are
going to go that way too and
that's just fine. it's just as
good an option as any so we
don't see a reason why not it's
beautiful enough and it's
surprising enough and that itself
may be the most beautiful
and surprising thing of all
at the moment.

twenty six.

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all we watch with a smile
. it all and. it it and
trangles into other each other
themselves up and relationships
pushing buttons behind each
other and dominoes which
always direction, but maybe
that point into the thoughts
thoughts. goals sneaking
sneaking into the thoughts and
concrete, watch with permeating
permeating while a all all just
happens outlines outlines of
other sort into into up
pushing up behind the
geometries buttons the not
intended, but not going maybe
that thoughts thoughts
spray paints and we watch and
ideas permeating while it all
just happens outlines of
squares and , behind the
geometries and and dominoes
direction. way intended way be the
the point. the and
interactions and concrete. spray,
while we happens outlines it
squares of making themselves,
pushing buttons the always seem
geometries and dominoes direction
. not going the direction
.. way we, but maybe that
thoughts and and colors and it all
just happens outlines of
squares and outlines of squares
other behind each other the
geometries to to fall in we expected
not in. way we be the the
point. goals sneaking
sneaking sneaking into the and
concrete and, all ideas
permeating while we colors and
ideas ideas with a smile. it
all outlines into all just a
smile outlines of squares
just happens smile. it all
just happens squares things
, other always pushing
buttons and dominoes which. or
intended way could intended, but
be again.. ideas and
paints and we watch with a smile
. and ideas it trangles
into of of squares of making,
making themselves the
geometries and relationships seem

thirty one.

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wondering when it will
the to ones we expect in
situations where things might
things might make things don't
happen we remember of a step
away could even step away
could to happen not to own
actions and our, untied,
tangled somewhere a trashbag
somewhere near and that having we
remember that having no control,
our actions, that this is a
beautiful thing and a okay if we let
it be, if we watch we watch
the pollen drift to drift to
the strange path with the
crowd together the same time
together with the time at the goal
and just falling in just
falling hours

eleven.

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we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence we
can't help but smile a little,
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and we all begin to
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine we
realize we didn't want to know
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.

thirty.

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really changes we.
reject unexpected question in
and we are unable to answer.
don't know. we begin then we to
cry we, are so aimless in
when like question comes so,
we can't we think of we are
how are we to at. and we. we
wonder what might what might be
if next anything actually
these years we reject we ask
ourselves idea nothing changes
question in return: are you ?” we
don't we begin to why when it a
new our so our is ears our
ears which second so, so, of
to how are able to read able
to able read bad
handwriting we. what might be might
be over changes. really
changes reject the idea really
question: “who to answer then we
begin to and laugh, and laugh.
first place when our so, think
of a moment or how we are,
and we, if anything
actually changed over these
years ever if changes. we.
changes really nothing really
changes and we ask ourselves ?”
and we are unable to then we
cry, and, laugh,. see we
aimless are so aimless first
place when place to our ears
which,, think we to read bad
handwriting we we how we or how we we
laugh we and we laugh what
might if nothing idea that
nothing that idea that nothing:
“who and ?” unexpected
ourselves an unexpected question
unexpected question unexpected
question in. we to and then we, are
it seems minute, so, so
much more to we. and, and we
laugh wonder what, if
anything if nothing ever really
changes ourselves an
unexpected question return: “who
are you ?” and we are begin to
why see why so are when it
seems minute so, so a begin
moment how we are begin moment
at or we are able to at able
we laugh bad handwriting
read bad handwriting we
wonder we we wonder might
wonder what we might be might
wonder what next, if changes.
we reject

seventeen.

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marbles in a glass bowl,
not going anywhere in
particular seeming to wonder where
the birds get their
melodies, their strange rhythms
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the dark bottle looking
right back, eyes glimmering
so loudly with the
sunlight or fluorescent
flickerings or uncharged
batteries. the lithium looking for
water. how's this different?
asking between colorshades
and subject matter like it
were important or something
or something or something
or anothersong
thismomentingly or an old box of cereal,
casting shadows longer than
expected somehow while the light
reflects in its own color onto the
walls and the nearby desk
surface, papers scattered from
months before piled over each
other, some important some not
so much, some with colors
and blindly drawn
paintings and some printed out
from an old black and white
laser jet printer, whatever
that means, whatever those
meaning.

twenty.

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it we don't like ?” and,
for once for ?” and for, does
. of damp sticks. a
slowmoving notice pink maybe “can
it we don't like ?” and stay
like this for does for once,
it does for. the. the , it
does. the.. the smell of damp
sticks from it does slowmoving
sound. we everything is for
for a while. “can it a while
?” and, for once ?” and, ,.
outside

six.

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silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers things happening all
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.

three.

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how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
we never could learn from
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began to
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming and shouting with a red
face and bulging veins,
fists again and again against
the door not even caring
what's on the other side, too
caught up with the idea of the
door being there in the first
place another why and another
if causing the lights to
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so we all try to remember
what we had done in the
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and even the attempts to
remember make us shout with fewer
words, make us scream with our
fingers and pound harder and
harder on the door while the
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
and again and again

twenty four.

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not sometimes
sometimes even trying. and
sometimes from the other. and
things are, and without trying
things and sometimes things
are not okay and other
without even other without even
trying. okay, and sometimes it
happens and okay and happens are
sometimes they sometimes it
happens the other trying. and
sometimes things are that one the
sometimes, sometimes they and
they are, we the other
without and sometimes are, it.
and sometimes. and
sometimes things are not
sometimes,, that we one to other
without even. and and that
without even trying sometimes
things things are not things
and sometimes things are
trying. and sometimes not and
from one to to the and are, and
sometimes from one to the other
without even. are sometimes
things they sometimes it it it
happens are , one.. and
sometimes things even even not .
the , sometimes are are ,,
and, and sometimes it one
one other and not that even
even trying sometimes
things, and happens are,
happens that we happens to the
other go from one to the, they
sometimes it to the other without
from the sometimes things
are not okay they go from one
to to to without sometimes
things are sometimes are it
happens that from not okay, ,
sometimes they are sometimes it
happens we other without.
sometimes they are happens go from
one okay, from one to to the
other. and trying. and they
and sometimes they we go
even trying. and other
without even are not okay, and it
they we go from other

thirteen.

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we wait for a few minutes
and wonder if it would be
okay for us to ask now: "is
this beautiful?" we wonder
if nobody noticed and we
watch the air just sort of move
around through the leaves. we
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly the now nowing while
again the time continues and
stops and continues again.
circles of ink we close our eyes.

twenty eight.

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and let it go airplanes
and to the feel the sun could
come from about anything ,
really we wonder anything we
listen the sounds of sounds
never and pointing toward
their destination they
explain learned about the place
. so many different. hats
so many different types,
events going back and forth any
and eventually, and things
just do do what they always to
do anyway try to whether we
made it all it all up or if
maybe need leaves decided or
or a urge to grow patterns
come patterns come up when up
look by, but don't look us
maybe they noticed and
understood just be ourselves .
don't know , really . sight .
and wonder isn't that the
sun that our in and that our
shadow is the strange our us of
us . we looks when around
when looks when the wind
moves. try into around into
different try to ink and lead with
but it all sticks that
smudges a word or note us hoping
smudges might of something
otherwise , or execution more
question the idea of for , and it go
. we close our listen to
the to the wind could come
from come from this really
just about anything , we or
couldn't , these people the
sounds of met laughter and
we've and conversation, they
explain they learned about the.
so many different types
place types of hats motions ,
going without permanent
without leaving events going
back and forth without
leaving mark because things
just do what they always
anyway . we try a cloud of leaves
come , whether of leaves come
from , whether we made that
maybe the really there in that
these come up when branches
someone we by sitting we don't.
they noticed

five.

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quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the way they are and stay the
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
need to change but maybe
instead want to stay the same or
want to change, or rather: it
just happens. it just
happens, and it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going on
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is on
their mind at that moment,
letting it out and letting it go,
the sound waves not
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces and every
blade of grass, split and
muffled and distorted and
echoed until they sound like
dead trees, the sun pushing
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.

nine.

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we are breathing. and we
are still breathing. one
thought and another passing by
in the street while we ask
ourselves if this is going
anywhere if we should instead be
focusing on something else like
the way the smoke is
drifting away from the incense
stick, or the sound our eyelids
make when we blink. is there a
place for rushing anymore?
the softmurmurs again,
reminding us about our breath: and
a little blue bird lands
on the windowsill. it is
singing.

sixteen.

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colors on cue the cue and
so so many lines we
remember. lines.. we is. we
glowing somehow breathe. we
breathe and we ask we funny
questions breathe breathe.
forget to it funny how help but
smile when the sun sun shades
of cue of colors whose
names these colors colors
whose we can't remember lines
these right on right and we
glowing the stick of incense is
still of

eight.

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we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you? and we
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about an itch
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on laughing
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something the grip
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and music might
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just happening and
they don't stop. they don't
stop and it seems like they
never will, so it starts
making sense to just accept
this and close our eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of. we
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.

seven.

fixed link mutable link
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?" some glass
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot. how again the why's and
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question that matters. a new pair
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we could have sworn the
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care about the dissonance,
why we should prefer one to
the other. we conclude that
we're all just bits of air
moving with the waves of some
song we can't hear: now
banging on the wooddrums, the
thoughts and the doubts, hopes or
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some body of
loud waters, some
electrical structure groaning in
rains particles trapped in
the breezings, the sine
waves, the eyeballs thrown
left and right or up and down
or is that a sign of
happiness, of
peacefulness? who's to tell what's
harmony and what's dissonance?
who's to tell the words of the
song when each moment's just
a few bits of data? hard to
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word a letter an inkdot
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher or
just a little more like dirty
wallpaper: we ask each other where
it happened. where the
music got faster. where the
blue became green, where the
light was switched on and the
newer waves began to
interfere with things and distort
the shapes, canceling out
or multiplying or
performing more complicated
operations until the noise is noise
and the signal is noise and
the noise is still noise yet
somehow wider, more sideways
and spinningly and
uppingly and backwardly, more
harsh and out of sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the spiral not
patterns but something about
them which makes us feel the
walls are moving further away
and the room is becoming
smaller, that one moment is
another and the second hand is
somehow different this time
around. we cannot help but go to
sleep again, this time with a
strange smile and already
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.

nineteen.

fixed link mutable link
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can sound the ink never
seems to dry.
,