Crave the distance landed, not what is left. Speaking things into existence intense in the night of worries of what’s left to come. Thinking about time and how it must slow down. To remember what wasn’t done or what was kept through the fears of failure. Humans are their own nightmares of reality. Waking to live in worry, resting beyond grief of it all. Nothing is left to be touched. Grips colliding hands together closely whispering into the parallel. A side of a version where we once were better with the outcome. The path chosen shifts at ease. So does the options we once thought we’d never live to see. Giving it our all, to the best of our abilities or none at all. The cracks slip when no one’s looking, our screams mellow to the knowing. All has become reachable yet minimal. All to be hopeful that you were reached in time.
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