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It shouldn't be so far away.

Actually, screw that. It must be. It is, but it's also the most internal,  decision anybody will ever make; of course, I'm wrong. Every time you move from one moment to the next, you are a fluid of nothingness. Yes, an irrationality. We are not rational beings. We aspire to understand purpose; it's ironic. We aspire to something that is intrinsic, we view it externally; and so it replaces itself and becomes external; this is happiness.

What has defined many moments in these past 6 years, even though the most recent ones have been colourless; has been a wantless desire. Of course, I'm wrong; and it makes sense that I should be wrong.

How else do I know that I have been defined by what I seek to define; that that very instance of reconciliation that I seek for, is just a fantasy perceived by the same mind that views reality. Internally, I will never cease to long for that distant dream. It isn't really reconciliation though; that's a powerful word.

It is the process of requiting. It will never come.

But oh, how I long for it. And oh, how it has already been.

Of putting things away in boxes, of rooms that will scarcely be revisited, of books reread only to conserve the memory. Of sounds and secrets that reverberate in the walls I feel I am talking to, eternally meandering in the space between.

Until it breaks down it will linger, the actions of people carved in a dance frozen in time, it is there, and it is there.

There is no longing here, so the trees are silent. Responsible for murder, responsible for theft. Spirits dulled float, meander. Trace them to the thinnest membrane of potential, trace them to the beckoning immortality. Compulsion is your tether, rendered and rendered and rendered to obsoletion. Don't surrender the zenith of salvation, don't surrender your own redemption.

Imagination is chasing. There is magic here, undiscovered by me, I am sure. Living in beauty and not the depths and constraints; the death of imposition! I am for the light that marches, dances as I walk. In an arpeggiated air, the furthest from the humanity I see. You scar the face of purity. Your shadow obscures reflection, there is no place for innocence.

What is innocence to you?

I hope there is clarity in the throes of hindsight and recollection. I hope you are where the lacuna is most luring, there to salvage me from the hollows of dejection and denial.

I hope you are here now, to show me that I am nobody. Please show me I am nobody.

You fade in the light,
I used to too,
but that was long ago.

You fade in the light,
I used to too,
but that was long ago.