The threads in the carpet make up familiar shapes. I can still remember when it was nice to live here. Everything worthwhile has taken off, almost all at once.
Every day worth living has yet to catch up to the rest. I see them when I'm dreaming, the hazy figures shooting left to right.
They move like great fireflies on a morning swept with fog. I'll just move on, then, this isn't healthy. There's more to come, right? There's gotta be more to come.
