The ground was fresh and wet. Voices from world conferences were rising in my head about how we're killing the world. Then let it die I said. There is an inevitability to the whole masquerade in any event.
A car next to me shook violently. Two fucking kids. Tomorrow in the morn, the motherfucker will be gone. She'll feel her stomach. New life. Born.
I once performed an experiment.
I heated a litre of water. It bubbled. Maybe they were the voices that told me to stop. As the kinetic energy supplied to them increased, they shook more violently, reminded me of discontinuities that might exist in the vessel. I ignored them again.
Silent my stupid wise ones, our time has come to revel in the Sun.
They're now furious, but there is something within the vessel which push them away. I, a naughty school child. We laugh together.
Only suddenly, I stopped and turned to look away and the bubbles dissipated. The litre of water jumped out and it was over before I knew it.
Love and lust, the emotion lay intertwined. Which one you, which one I?
Roses strewn on the ground in parking lots are rain in August and temporary relief from a summer dream that we're hoping to get over.
What more can we do, to prove this warm affection, that we've always felt for you?
... Maybe the rose was gifted to you.
... Maybe you saw me finding comfort in the arms of an old flame.
... Maybe you met the boy you turned down earlier tonight.
... You might be in that car that's violently shaking next to me.
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