I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine, I promise. It’s just that I can no longer remember
what it’s like to gently brush my fingers over that brief moment of silence
in anticipation, which, like any attempt to hold on to a long bygone present,
fades eventually. So I guess I finally have to adjust to all the possible futures,
each with its own way of making me feel like a fool, because only a fool
could possibly avoid the time leaking all over the bed.
hidden pilcrow 