the last battle .

sometimes in the silence the buzzing starts. the whirring, persistent, annoying buzzing that represents realisation. at first it’s hushed, but with every second that passes by it grows louder, picking up fragments of understanding and snowballing it together. following all the confusion that once saturated this space, the condensed realisation triggers a chain reaction.

anticipation. it drips off the walls until it creates a waterfall that surrounds her, trapping the rhythm of a heart that’s beating a little too fast. the vibrations pass through the walls and dissolve on the other side, whereas she cannot.

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watermark .

“if the world only gave you one more day to collect your moments and build your repertoire of happiness…”

she stops reading the billboard as it blurs past. it’s so stupid, she thinks to herself. someone who had actually experienced moments that contribute to a repertoire of happiness would not think of it this way. why? because those moments are uncollectable. one cannot simply seek them, absorb them, pick them up and slide them into a test tube and cork it for a rainy day. it cannot be found, freeze dried, stuck in a vacuum and sealed.

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counteract .

the doors of the train close as she stands facing them from the platform. if she presses the rewind button and puts in the effort to run next time she could make it through.

she speculates. runs through all the possibilities in her mind. should she take it back? 

but for some reason, unlike all the other instances, this time it isn’t worth it.

so she walks away from the edge of the platform to find a seat, ready for the consequences. the station is empty except for the man carrying a mop and a bucket up the stairs. and then she’s left alone.

she checks the time and looks around to find the screen to tell her how long the wait is until the next train comes.

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tread .

if there was light at the beginning, what was there at the end? in a day where the sun rises to siginify a start…

the remaining specks of sunlight reflect like glitter over the water. they flicker, creating a pattern that alters every second so that you couldn’t retrace it even if you tried. although the sea is calm, the swirls of glitter splash in disarray, while the rest of the water seems as inpenetrable as always.

she skips along the sand with her bare feet, squeezing its loose fragments between her toes, creating soft volatile prints as she goes. she knows that the moment the wind blows, there will no longer be any record of her being there, nor any record of her existence.

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prelude .

(leggiero) in the dark they speak of the world, playing their words slowly but without hesitation.

(crescendo) the words spring like a long string of melodies, like the classics that begin again when you think they’re about to end, and come to life in a falsetto even stronger than before. 

(allegretto) combined together, their sentences become a harmony, their ideas quicken the pace and their conversations flow freely.

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shooting stars .

a forced smile upon her lips, she watches the world for what it really is. it spins around in the perfect pace that allows her to observe, but not understand. contact, but not linger. touch, but not possess.

on the other side of the broken track, his gravitation pulls at the world in a completely different way. she watches through a one sided mirror as he reaches for the things he will eventually obtain. he stretches the walls and fumbles with the lights until everything in his world is a work in progress that can never achieve perfection, if only for the sake of more progression.

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rainbow .

they found the end of the rainbow pooling into a mass of shiny silver fluid, more milky than clear. its sparkles reflect in their eyes when they reach it, and for a moment the laborous journey didn’t matter at all. their eyes meet and they share the feeling of that soft pleasant shock spreading inside your heart. the nature surrounding it seemed like a picture perfect oasis, and the calm of the breeze and the hugs of the sun made the moment essentially perfection.

heaving her baggage off her shoulder, she laid it on the floor and unzipped it a little to retrieve a camera so they can prove that they made it. shots are snapped, artfully candid, and excitement is expressed in the intensity of their touch.

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