I sit on an upturned apple crate that has been motionless for years. Wrestles at heart, but to ashamed to move. Fear of revealing the decay caused by its weight bears heavy on its mind.
I stare at stars that are no longer with us. The twinkle and shimmer subsided long ago. At some magic distance I could meet up with reality. Revealing a sky with one pinprick less.
I often wonder when I will fade. At what distance will I catch up with reality? What decay will be left behind when my weight is lifted and the night sky is one shimmer less?
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