Don’t judge a.

Words turning into dust, full pages broken and battered, moving through fingers, hands, lives; a consistency that’s constantly changing, adding new layers, forgetting old passages; the ink smeared and fallen, a war painted face streaked with blood and black; scars misinforming the intentions of the face behind. A most quiet object until it hits hard, landing on the floor of an empty castle; on the bottom of the ocean; on your heavy chest. Yellowed pages tell numerous stories beyond their lines, asking to be read and understood, their meanings to be carried through whatever medium carries meaning these days. Asking to be carried on.


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