You suppose it's human nature, this drift from blood to blood. The kindest cut so deep that stitches are a formality. The curtain falling fast and dark, the stage so swept with feet and intrigue no-one knows who to blame. You catch a glimpse, you turn too fast. You hear your heart go running down the street. The hour so long it may as well be day. The moment so cold you think it might always be this way. Footsteps and that sudden hunger. You remember who you really are, and all else is erased.
It's always just a stone's throw closer, a kiss missed by miles as the crow flies. The cryptic rhythm of breath and air, the pump and power station. The form fills, the shape empties. Always some other story, the hidden signal, the letter in plain sight. This mystery of flesh and feeling. This puzzle of time and tense. The lights go out and the hammer falls. There are no debates, no resolutions. Just one thing then the next. Conspiracy or happenstance, the world is what you wake with.
Every day you sort through faces, their grafted smiles, their shifting moods. Some names stick and others wander. Some stay close, some are never seen again. You keep your count, you cling to reasons. Explanations are the film played backwards. Motive the toast as the table is cleared. Speak your mind and hold your portion. Say your piece and watch the tide erase every last trace. Every smile conceals some stranger. The picture in the mirror another person you will never know. The sun goes down and the darkness walks the hallways. The night is here and every dream is gone.