Sunday, January 02, 2022

3886 : Unborn

My city is always full of dust. It feels like a city perpetually being built. The more I have meditated on this, my awareness of this has changed. More and more, I feel as if, this dust is about the houses that never got built.

Those specks of cement and sand, that never made it to the structure.

The ones who missed the mark, and yet, they are always around, witnesses to their own failures, and telling their stories for posteriety.

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