when comes the sun

there's something of comfort in cloudy days: hugs hung from the atmosphere, buffers rested between us and the outside unknown. but problems ensue when we little humans construct our own little clouds for our own little lives - constructions of groundless fear, warptions of ignorant comfort loosely based in the gifts of atmospheric embrace.

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the fall comes late here as i sit with pricks of insecurities salting my thoughts too sharply. the taste (its potency) blazes over every spice of life and numbs reception to all other flavors. God, ea

gently softly fixed we cry stagnant in our offering the way is blocked is fogged over by insert what you will trigger release remembrance the gaze of Light into disheveled corners where any which way

gravity the weighing of objects the weight of thoughts unstrung like dust in the moonlight carrying on unbound for chance at matter mattering to matter to be