ANONYMITY //  LOST // DEATH

 Something happens at ninety seven miles per hour on a dark road. Lights start to tilt towards an unknown source. Your view funnels into a specific cone of vision of that specific moment. Everything on the road starts getting detached from it. Becomes transparent.. unimportant.. unreal. Nothing is in front of you. And all that's behind you is the thunder of your screaming engine. 

You'er on an open ended highway. Striking the asphalt harder than tornado.

Are you lost? Do you feel the frost? On you... Can I trust? On the road. On you.

Wind's pushing your chest. Wants to throw you out of your ride.  

You're resisting. Resisting the force. Resisting to leave her behind. You made a promise ones to keep her. Nothing will ever get in front of you. 

No cages.

CONTINUITY // STEADINESS // DROWNING -- Banks of Ohio

Memories have a tendency to stay. The dark ones stay longer. And the ones that you wish you'd never came across with them tend to never leave your body alone, your soul, your vision, and your future. 

At every corner of this damn city, there's a memory of you. You are my darkest shadow following me secretly through every alley, and you are the scariest ghost haunting me at every turn. 

I remember... When I lost you. The architecture of this binary universe changed and never went back to its original state. Houses became prisons, bodies became machines, and people became animals. 

When I'm on the edge of a cliff, same cliff that took us away from each other, I'm starring directly at my future that's precisely thirty one meters and 2.4 seconds away, I'm comfortably numb. Breathing is almost dead. Eyes almost closed. Soul almost off the ground. Your whole life's almost a descending scale. Almost a fine musical piece from the East. Almost done. Almost gone.  

I tend to think. Will I be with you in the next 2.4 seconds if I take another step? Gravity says yes! Do you? 

That's when the non-scientific part of me tells me that I have already waited so long that time isn't anything but a vague piece of shit unit that is there to remind us of our loss. 

All that's left is the last bottle of the eighteen year old Scotch whiskey in your car parked away from the cliff and half loaded gun in the glove compartment.

Do I really want to go back to the car or take a "step forward"? 

With or without you, this polynomial life will continue

Let the fire touch your skin. Let the wind push us closer to each other. Let the softness of your secret thoughts harden my love. Let the rhythm of my heartbeat become the symphony of this mythical relationship of ours.

Let the fire touch your skin, dear, this is where the love begins. 

When you're about nine thousand.. ten thousand.. eleven thousand, or God known, who gives a damn miles away from the one you love and you're contentiously counting the days to hold her hand just one more time, your memories start to fade away, like the smoke of fine cigar. Some leave a remarkable taste and some leave a deep painful scar.

All that's left is ashes on your table.

With or without you, this polynomial life will continue. But I'll be a blind man trying to look at your eyes. A blind good looking man trying to touch your skin with his hands gone missing. And a blind good looking brave man trying to feel your love with a shattered heart. Depression is no longer a dark concept for you, it's simply reality knocking on your door. 

There's a phone that's been continuously ringing for the past seven and a half hours.

There's a heart that's been beating violently for the past twenty seven hours.

//