No One Ever Really Gets Used To

Knowledge Is Hot Water On Wool. It Shrinks Time And Space.

Stories Heard But Not Recalled. Letters Too. Words Filling My Head. Fragmenting Like Artillery Shells. Shrapnel, Like Syllables, Flying Everywhere. Terrible Syllables. Sharp Cracked. Traveling At Murderous Speed. Tearing Through It All In A Very, Very Bad Inreparable Way.

Not All Complex Problems Have Easy Solutions; So Says Science (so Warns Science.)

Maturity, One Discovers, Has Everything To Do With The Acceptance Of ‘not Knowing.

And Where There Is No Echo There Is No Description Of Space Or Love. There Is Only Silence.