I keep thinking in montages of "before". I see myself omnisciently moving through life; the retrospect of the camera's ever present eye. Condensation from my drink watering sealed floors, waiting in hallways and uncomfortable chairs; lining the walls gracefully, tactfully, like every time before. It was like moving through sludge; I am floating through the thick ambivalence in which depression is kept at bay. Head back, eyes closed, hair absolutely everywhere and gasping for air granted from stolen bits of adrenaline. When you cannot be moved to feel, you feel like a thief when sensation is near.
concrete steps un-level
old illuminated fog
past is just prologue
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