The opposite of an abbreviation is two going where one cannot.
In its longer form does silence mature?

Exhausted by sigh, incomprehensible in translation. Taking the talking too far. Away from, incessantly away from. As it transpires it is not always possible to have been there, even when I was.

Then whisper peters out, and in fall finally understands landing as still movement. The impersonal fade floats; for the watching of or as another. And the taking? or for the taking. Leave behind is only a back length away, no heroic lifting of guard reduces confusion breeding confusion over any and every who. Over if at all.

waving

I’m offline for a few weeks, bye for now and thank you to those who have been dropping by regularly.

If there was a chance that you might read me, because as I said “her whisper remained unfinished” even after introduction, then descent’s toppling of elation would not be carried out in vain, as an incomplete collision might pile-up to awkwardness.

Through nocturnal clarity, a scene of split-level wavering. Interruption fails to halt the toll that has been ringing since ringing began. Sprinting on echos that lure and pack the changes that touch the sides of a life.

Such inaccurate pressure day-dreamt back into ease, coming up short of unshackled bicker by the charm of eye-catching grit. An iota of jeopardy left intimately flipped. Scattering simple plans to the core of repeat, she reserved one foot for the last step away from this distorted shindig, a reunion of the three I’s who in falling a year ago said:

At tether, all hurdles endlessly typify each other, unevenly sited as they are between expect and overcome. Creating space for more endings: this can go, this can go… (and go they do) frees all nosedives from air pressure.

There is likely no tomorrow where an ‘I might’ of mine segues into ‘did’. Unlimited ‘mights’ can’t fathom the palm of your hand or why ‘in the’ has such a portentous echo. Palms can and are leapt from, or is that slithered from in the manner of a reluctant bungee jumper.

Is it safe to go back to misunderstanding? and consider that you were right all along, even though all is long gone. If there had been no squabble, a table might have been laid for those cards, leaving the surface scarce but the centre riotous. I use this time to re-view, because I can see distance as not only a long way off.

Pause

Unfurled for now. You can find me here though.

Thud.

Misunderstandings inevitably sit. At the head of confusion we can squabble until right has no choice in the matter and lays at the table a falling out or falling in. A falling in with that is neither fraught nor deficient, leaves scarcely any surface left to approach.

In reaching bottom rock, where underside astounds, giving away any attempt at tempt. It is here that curios collect, with a stark rarity of reaction. Those moments in miniature that pool and band together for our own story’s sake, can climb out at any time and shake off excess sentiment.

And yet, even in fall, mistaken in outlook, with remembrance that conveniently matches melancholy, there are always two or more ways to perceive choice made by mood, that flatterer of temperament, divining arbitrariness from the residue of presumed understanding. My delusion has purposes beyond figment.

In holding onto ‘ly’, sudden fractures, and calls for splint to support further expectations. Powerless to mend maybe, advancement carries repeat out of reach, planning dreams with no nightlife to diffuse them. There cannot be an extended explanation, as I only disperse one moment at a time through the opening left by you.

At times like this, an outside influence longs me along, that is to say yanks my yearning for re-tread; such a fleeting expense could be too ive-y, as place, takes place, takes place and you oblivious to evaporation, leave my findings out in the open. We still call it progress, under our breath, where condensation forms a film over all that remains of suddenly.

In coming third, I noticed both and not, an end to approach and pause.

An annual instance veers into view. Hearing only distance this year, my eyes relieved of stares, penetrate to the pupil’s light class. In re-arranging the calendar month, dates order themselves around you, or so you believe.

At that microscopic place of discomfort, lazes hope, laced with anti-anticipation, fortified by it, as a fresh grain of uncertainty reinvigorates touch, coaxing your gist from the right hand of morning.