Can’t keep the winter. Can’t remember the rain. Can’t preserve the dark. Nothing’s quiet, nothing’s simple, nothing’s right. I need to walk to shake off this distress but there’s nowhere to go. I can’t escape the Sun for even a moment. It burns my flesh; it boils my blood and marrow and saliva. It melts me down to my mineral bones and then bleaches even these so that I am no longer anything of myself. Nothing but smooth white sticks buried in an ocean turned desert. I will be nothing but dunes, and not even the memory of rain.

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