fractal

It's late at night.

I've been rusting through old papers and photos the last few hours, some dusty and torn, all crumpled memories. I like the sound of the paper when being smoothed out, carefully unfolding it, reading archaic fonts while they come back to life.

There's a black and white rerun of an old television show making noise in the background, and there are sharp shadows on the wall.

Some days you walk over earthquakes.

And some of them you walk over flaccid oceans, marching over seas of calm. Those are few and far between though, those still images capture whatever you want them to see.

I wonder where we'll be later. I think I'd rather be staring at the crow cafe.