whatiwas

All the best words are given to darkened streets, cast under my breath into the wind as it carries needle-thin raindrops into my mouth, all the best thoughts circling as my hands occupy themselves carrying bags or boxes until they begin to kill each other out of boredom until only the simplest ones remain, strong in their security, as they don't suffer from the crippling uncertainty that plagues everything I ever dreamed that might have been beautiful.

Just once, I'd like to keep one of them, to take it seriously enough to hold onto it longer than the rest and put it somewhere I can actually see it, so I can be sure that I even thought it in the first place.