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  • Night's Indigo

    We had ideals, this fidelity burning like fire, like promises passing in an hour, like the softness of words when they ramble. We crumble, keeping time and disassembling, holding onto what keeps us trembling. The past and future jitter, like words scratched on walls, the weight from which we crawl, like stars  falling against a window, sliding into night’s perfect indigo.