we imagine being a spot of dust settled in the cracks of some old manor or mansion, buried in history and moss and mildew, far far from here and now. i watch my bitterness soften at the seams as the world dulls it with every drink and late night, just as the wallpaper of an abandoned farm house curls up around the edges and rots away with every summer sun and dew dropped morning. and i ramble ramble ramble on paper and we wish on air.
