In the early morning, remnants of a hangover remind themselves on your brow. A late walk home across the villages, the Empire State Building nestled in a swath of rainclouds, the October dread relentless. It only begins to lift when you have just given up hope, when you have dug your nails in at the shoreline and only just decided not to drown. Curiosity resuscitates your cat, it's a joke of words, I refill my cup and watch you unfurl little tendrils around my edges. My great-grandfather's gold watch ticks comfortably at my side, reminding me only of my own insignificance: the days will tick by even after I am gone. There is only what you will make of your time here, everything else will be lost on you.
He says in real life it's more, and you think that's exactly what you've been trying to say, but haven't been able to.
Tread carefully around the fires.
Remember how they keep you warm.
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