1.n hour is eternity. If paper is scratched with the wrong meaning blood is drawn. Why must it be so delicate? The nib makes uncertain gestures over winsome, or dusky, or sultry - yet can't commit. This is the horrid nature of specifics. Still, one can't desecrate. Those are not your smiles. Your smile is the language of forbidden consolations. 2. Eternities pass. The sheet lies like a heavy drift of snow upon the desk. Words sink there. So do men. 3. When we were sacred, we carried small, inviolable kingdoms of hope around like children. You smiled, then. I can't see it. I can't see it anymore. This is urgent. 4. At 3 am I stir coffee for longer than necessary. Just to do something. Just to do anything. I still can't forget that I don't remember your smile. The new moon is a crescent. A cheshire, mocking. 5. At dawn, the neighbour's children rise with a song that isn't yet broken. How long will it be for them? How long until they know nights can pass without memories? And just like that, the day will break. With that, the day will break me.
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