Wistful whimsy in subordinate nature to delicacy.
I caught you spying on me, toying with me; pushing me relentlessly.
To some void de facto episode in which there is no antagonist and no hero, only the circumvent resolution that nothing is the same and cannot be changed.
Here I find myself alluring for change.
That change.
The change?
Spares, ready to be installed as if their only hope for an existence was to be of assistance.
Sidelined resolve.
I caught it this time,
and the gears kept turning,
I watched the clock,
Clocked out, and suddenly I was three dimensions away before you finished your sentence.
Only goal in mind was someone like you.
Soon you’ll be picking at me and waving your hand in my face to gaze at whatever I was lost in.
Bringing me back.
Curiosity, almost slanderous to the defect of my use.
There is no changing, do it as it is so.
In my own time,
and here you are, caught up in mine.
petrichor - archive 