Farldos Offline

Winter was watching the street darken.

Winter was watching the street darken. The night grew heavy with time. We listened and stared at the world together. The cold waited, watching though falsely-heated windows, glowing geometry to ward against the wind. Fire, but not yet started, to be born from papers not yet printed, to be lit under wood from a tree that lay in the shadow of it's son. While we slept they released the dream they shared and now we are entangled in vague ceremonies, before an ersatz altar we set back up endlessly. There is no final pattern for the broken pieces that constitute us. Fire, now lit to mark the place where all things, what is stored and what is released, dance free, reunites songs. We, freer yet, stumble without falling and pass this off as dance. Forgetting ourselves, it is enough, for a moment, to believe we are flames.