There is a trick we all endure, moving as we do from place to place, leaving blurry constellations of spittle and ash at our feet. There is a glint of recognition there in these landscapes we only know from dreams. These wild intuitions, this animal abandon. The maps we make with our mouths and our fingers, the maps we learn inside another's heart. We sweep the path and scatter the ashes. Every day always the one we have just begun.
We are here until we reach the limit, then just as quick we are long gone. The evening shadows reaching towards the street, the setting sun another wager placed, easy money twice as easy when it goes. The shadows stretch in swathes and fingers, grasping every ever-after by the throat. Close your eyes or loose your tongue, in the end all reasons wind up equal. Our time always running down, stars burning into oblivion, sand skittering down the fitted glass. Our time always a bunch of words we gather, and whatever we have right now.
Take my hand and I will lead you. Take my hand, you have nothing left to lose. The blow by blow of each carnival attraction when all you wanted is a home for all your heartache. The dull remittance of every sin when the anguish and the sorrow were your only crimes. The stories they tell you are true enough, and as for worries, legions of them are waiting behind every door. If you pay attention the odds are always against you. Our fates are made already if there is no choice to find. Our crossed stars are right there in the sky. But if the chances are ours to take, why not start with love?