bask

My heart falls over itself. There is a profound silence preceeding a dull roar. In this white room, accompanied by the jerking movements of the clock I am reflecting and regathering strength.

I wonder at these insights that flutter like moths wings in the night. Swooping low like insects across the grass, collecting dew. I am softer than raindrops, more brittle than resin. In that quiet place holding a latern to the corners of the room.