heart of dust
There was a mountain that once was a valley. Wet and then dry in days gone by. Heat and snow all had nowhere to go in days gone by. Would it make any difference if I stood on its tippy top and screamed my name or would I be just one more leaf blowing by? Words are waves that ripple instead of rip. Dimension stuff. Once upon a time there were fish that swam in its lakes before it got all pointy and thrusting upwards. A gesture so empty because in days to come it will buckle and break and return to a distinctly valleyish state. Don’t despair though, if that’s your inclination, it will eventually pull itself skywards once again and the best we can hope for is that some little piece of us finds its way back up to the top in the form of another person or animal or leaf. Those who believe in chemistry would say all of the above but I find myself hedging my bets. Thinking that crumbling is weakness and towering is strength is a common mistake made by the consciously biased. Days just go by. So I ask myself would it make any difference if once upon a yesterday I yelled her name instead of mine. That is not only a question but it might be the only question. At least in this body, this time around. Echoes that reverberate longer than a mountain is a mountain as the world bounces up and down.
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