Quarters of time

I think i know what it is.
It is nothing. Like a single blade of grass that picks up a little speed
when the light breeze becomes a good breeze.
A good breeze to a big breeze
wind and then storm
It’s that light that flickers so softly that you can’t even notice the shadow move
but it moved all right
Caught it all right; anger and happiness. Nothing.Nothing is scarier than something.
On and off
what’s off, Annie? What’s off

The building up of a storm that won’t ever blow. Created just to begin and then stop. Like a voice that cannot have any effect on anyone.
How many days of the week are there in a day, how many seconds of a month in a moment and how many years of a lifetime in my one breath.

Find me, you won’t because I am not fully formed.
Everything’s a little cold and a little sweaty. Spring is a strange time, with the perfect light and the perfect dim.
A straight line, running through turns and forgetting to merge into time.
time isn’t memory, she doesn’t feel and hence doesn’t fill up with feelings of her own.
pockets of time are empty parcels of mellow heady nothings.
made of sweet dark bitter quarters of
no thing

can you hear me, my own voice, through silence and through echo
talking to me and then forgetting I ever existed
touching my mind for a moment and then escaping

just letting me know that she’s there
ticking like time

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