habituate

Another day strung from inference to inference, another day of jumped assumptions. The calendar has it one way, the earth spins it different. One imagines words will be had. Sometimes you’re the cold that carries over, sometimes you’re the red past the reason spent. The limits and the sky beyond. The ought and what you’re used to. 

The wind’s indifference touches your skin, threading a chill through your being. So little difference between here and gone, the turn of the page and the story wanders on. There’s no story that’ll stick you, no unknown to scry to prophesy you to safety. So many centers, so many selfs, so many wrecks to walk away from. Gather up the circumstances and work it any direction it takes.

The day put out and the night on strong, something icy in the revenant wind rising. Stern and strange, the stumbling forward feel of the senses coming to. The waking a momentary cease of singing, the song reeling on and on. To say it the way they placed it. To read it the way you were taught. Every moment the rush to judgement. Waiting for the words to work.