scent
almost poetics i must say. as suddenly this were, if only it were, so close to finding it own reflection in a window. simply another of those inefficacious attempts at looking beyond present, thwarted by the light within the room. and if that light were to be made subtle, almost silent in its sacrosanct state of efficacious lambency, then still this night in stillness would, in its nonpareil ability to place distance between two, give nothing of the next.
but tis nither hither nor thither.
let this be the denouement to this perplexing problem of our circumvolution-
once all glorious causes have been explored, excavated, and exhausted, once our glorious aegis of Modern Knowledge has itself departed from our inner being,
we will recognize our evanescence
but tis nither hither nor thither.
let this be the denouement to this perplexing problem of our circumvolution-
once all glorious causes have been explored, excavated, and exhausted, once our glorious aegis of Modern Knowledge has itself departed from our inner being,
we will recognize our evanescence