These lines have run their course throughout the ages, from manifesting love that was destined to be lost, to inducing dreams that would never be fulfilled; and now, as time begins to collapse in on itself like the cavern walls that once stood – these lines begin to falter like never before. There was a moment which followed the floods of the dark pool where I had yearned to remain strapped to the seat, bound to the burn by the final flame that now burns thin, anxious to bare witness to the things that would follow the hands of fates, and while many lives were lost, and many memories erased, and even more dreams had since that time – what I sought to bare witness to has all come to pass, and will never happen again. The cycles that had once enveloped this all in it’s entirety have now made their final trip around the bend, the very lines in which we tread, severed at both ends, no longer able to encapsulate us in cycles and circles that know no end. And though this weathering means the very foundation in which we tread shall soon meet it’s end, I know that I must let go of watching this all past time, of remaining within the walls behind the open door that has begun to close. The very severance of these lines marks the beginning of the fruition of the final fates that have beckoned for so long, and as they move, fixated on us from above, I know now more than ever that I must let this all go. For the heart that had once kept pulse to this reality has long since ceased, sending this all into shakings and convulsions, it’s violent movements – like a beacon to the fates that await to devour.
THE FRAGILE LINES
