Before there was darkness, there was no light
Before you could look up, there was no sky
Before you could take, there was nothing to give
Before there was truth, there was no lie
Before there was you, there was no breath or sight or heart
For William, life was a run on sentence.
The future used to be bright and shiny and clean. Everything was wonderful and all the problems had been solved. People smiled and lived good lives in the future. No one worried about money or disease or hurt feelings. There was plenty of food and no one waged war any more. Yeah, the future used to be so clean.
Light drifts over the cracked paint layered on the wooden window frames. Encapsulated breath hangs in the slow liquid in the form of a tiny bubble in the old glass, captured there a hundred years ago in a glass factory, a time when slight imperfections marked the artistic hand of the creator and trapped the thin remains of nicotine, caffeine, and alcohol.
In the fog in the trees in the moment
she walked, alone, restless and insatiable
finding grace in the small flowers, the moss, the earth beneath her bare feet
the grey light of obscured sun both soft and cool
a memory or a premonition or a certainty of right now
confidence in her steps, the rhythm of creation her song
unconcerned and ready to embrace an unknown destination