scraps.
these pieces burn. these make me smile. they whirl, they dance. a maelstrom. i try to make sense of it. a blizzard, haphazard. i have been more and less confused for as long as i know.
except those few times. dreamy times. alone. a doe walks by, with large understanding eyes, containing all the peace and sadness and inevitability in life. i want to be away, dreaming, alone, leaving no one. i think of them, these phantoms, not real to me now. they could be all around me real, if i step this way, if i swirl this thought just so. i could help them build their homes, and in doing so, build my own.
