All’s not certain and few things last, but nothing happens if nothing starts. You say it’s been too long, but I’ve been hanging on. What’s enough? When’s too much? Twitching digits scratch away the minutes in the silence. Perhaps the time has come for prying courage out of cowardice.
Anchored to a slackened line, tossed and turned upon the ebb and flood of your incline. These eyes are sinking ships. Tides rip through timbers like time slips through fingers. These words voiced in mother tongues at foreign ears, in one side and out the other; a one-way street under tiring feet. Momentum is fixed to lessen. Worthy intentions now not worth a mention as eager meanings are lost upon the air.
You say it’s been too long, but I’ve been hanging on. What’s enough? When’s too much? Twitching digits scratch away the minutes in the silence. Uncork a brew of unknown expense; it’s been ageing long enough. Stress the seal. Weaken doubt. Perhaps some good will tumble out and into words that you’ll understand.
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