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I was running
towards the blinding white
towards the deafening silence
towards the nothingness
of inertia
in a straight line
in the speed of light
that suspended fall
in the hopes that
the layers of time
will break off
and remembering would be
too weak to hold on
so that when I reached
the convergence
of all lines
of all what-if thoughts
the vanishing point
of all parallel regrets
I’d be as clean as
an ocean with no past
where no winds ever blew
the sand hadn’t met the surf
the fish were all asleep

I was rushing, finally
towards that stillness
crying all my tears
towards black death
towards the anesthesia
of aphoristic sleep
the debris of a thousand
years of solitude
that are waxed onto my flesh
coming undone and letting go
to settle in some particle
of my drunken speed
ever accelerating
towards that opacity
that space that’s
already occupied
ready to crash
already hearing
the crunch of chrome
on monochromatic concrete
already seeing the purity
the state of
no longer seeking
but being
the purge
the forgiving that
meant forgetting

everything happened all at once,
in the end
like noise on skin
like fever on vision
like the smell of
swallowing of life whole,
bones and all

nothing existed then

and when I turned the page
there was this strain of
a deep, round blue sticking
to the last strand of my soul
resolute and almost tangible
and it was you.

Image by photographer 小米 靖