And we learned that these roads lead nowhere. With the concrete, specificity of an intent, the driving force of uncertainty. With days that belonged to night, and mornings that woke only in our dreams. We departed from this life, taking our belongings in our grandfather’s suitcases and the smell of thriftstore dressing rooms. We longed for something beyond the border, beyond the horizon that peaked and blurred like an unfinished oil painting. We dripped and dripped till we were completely white again, untouched canvases that declared it’s incongruity with the world.
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