Everything had unwound and now wound back again as if the years had stumbled back in horror from their own reflection. As if all the words were one by one unsaid, unthought, love unmade. No decay, no attack, then silence. So that if it were possible to dream, the dream might be all that was possible again. The scattered pieces reassembled into one. Effect stripped back to cause and cause still unconceived. Dim stirrings of electrons in their orbit. The gleam now draining from the eye; restored to innocence or emptiness. Blind hope with no taint of the fervor yet to come. No hint of the hideous stranger that lay inside waiting to be born.
Since writing this post nhealey may have helped people, but has not within the last 4 days. nhealey is a verified member, has been around for 2 years, 9 months and has 24 posts and 216 replies to their name.
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