The campfire smoke rises through the opening in the woods.
The smoke, it tangles upwards in spirals and gypsy curls.
I think of my reflection from the street spot and I see my eyes glistening in confusion.
The world spins slowly.
I feel the air between my fingers growing. And it's all hazy. And I'm finding a new place.
...for me to rest.
I think of those old memories. When you were young and thought that there was actually a clear sense of self. You and those action pact eyes, you wanted excitement, joy!
Ocscure eyes.
Hazy eyes, wake up. It's morning. The sun wants you up. Shine through me like the window cracks. I need to be blinded by some kind of sense.
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