I am waiting for the part of the story where the title is explained with some big picture summary: some explicit statement purpose governing: black words on white pages: close up, not grey faded (blurry eyed and far away). I am waiting watching waiting waving wavy ups and downs – down and down and drowning coming up for gasps of air – held under diving under sinking settling then rising up and up until finally: some surface breaking eye to eye with the ebbing tides: just pieces just some ashes taking form and taking flight forgetting unsung tragedies of unsolid shifting surfaces.

The skies are clear: I see it now: the far out stars: we’re under heaven. Traveling unraveling: some Brownian motion pathway: flittering far down below so far beneath the dawning light. But the skies are clear: they’re blue: the shortest wavelength traveling photons can will use. On Occam’s razor’s edge: the simple path is sharp and stinging. Shrink down small enough to not be sliced: the path is paved with mountain ranges. The shortest path, the lighted way, the lessons learned, the faces saved. No curving lines to final points: no question marks signaling a choice.

You look me eye to eye and you try and you try to let my hopes down carefully where i am still left standing. You’re holding on to letting go: grasping for some final straws: my fatal flaws our problems: the absence of enough being as it is defined: as enough. my white flag is waving saying: let’s fight on let’s go and if your burden is too heavy: my back is yours to break, but the guilt in your eyes is heavy too: the guilt of decisions too certainly made. But am i certain? I am certain: the shortest path is clear: fly with me towards the sun: there’s no use waiting here.

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