Exiger.
And I find myself where I said I would not return.
In the way of myself.
Tripping on a shoelace I left untied on purpose.
Cutting myself on knives laid out in perfect asymmetry on the floor.
Every inch of me asking why, but nobody ever answers.
When you are chasing ghosts you know what to expect.
When the ghosts are chasing you, you don't know where you are safe.
Are we ever safe?
I remember, althought it is not really a memory.
It is a familiar scent tugging at my heart,
Perhaps a premonition, perhaps a warning.
That giving everything and nothing simultaneously is unbearable.
However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.
I need to come to terms with this before anything else.
| insert appropriate metaphor |
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