The cities were no longer glorious. They were half burnt-out, tired versions of one another.

They were shining and beautiful all the same, but they were no longer the oases that housed the refuges she sought. She thought once that they would lead her somewhere that would save her, but realized she was looking for her savior in all the wrong places.

They would only ever be what she thought she could never have. And finding the things that would always stay with her, the things no one could ever take from her, she found her place everywhere.

It didn’t matter where she went anymore. She filtered the world through inspired lenses of intentional self-deceit and selfishly carried the weight of their struggles on her shoulders.

She saw the same people everywhere. She saw the same lights shining through the dark parts of his and her eyes. She saw the same turbulent lines strain across the same cuts of fabric, stretched across the same miraculous skeletons of fleshy twine and disabling joints.

No matter where she hid or how far she ran, she could never escape the percussion of pulsating desire emanating from everything that passed before her.

The days are too long and my time is too short,” thought the tired husband returning from work in a place envied by the rest of us. My creations will become something you will come to know, decided the schoolgirl who knew nothing about life in a town nobody really knew the location of. “What can I do with my body to capture her mind?” the clever workingman foolishly wondered again. And finally: “Is there a point to any of this?” resounded our voices in a symphonic chorus time and time again.

She reached out and saw that the minutes could be touched, held, stretched and played with if you gave them enough attention. She couldn’t believe it was that easy, but it was. She came to the debilitating conclusion that all of these irrational stories we tell ourselves could be sorted, made clear and retold by rearranging time. That by simply considering time as a thing to be entertained rather than taken advantage of, we could produce things of more value; we could stop busying ourselves with a consecutive series of inconsequential actions, which is after all – mediocrity.


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