this big sexy regret machine

They look very, very cool. They wear clothes the colour of sunrise. Tops and sweaters, not going to be sweat in for a longtime. The prying cold is coming again, and they feel as though it’s going to last a lot longer. now, they are not going to watch themselves grow, but instead, find themselves again. We watch, absently and lost, knowing who they are, but never saying a word. The birds caw with us. They walk on, their black skirt cold. Their boots crunch of unseen gravel. This is morning. An irrefutable, beautiful morning. They walk with a fleeting energy, walking with the rising dew. A small, but unique gift of morning. They make sure to wear long sleeve shirts underneath their jumpers, otherwise their arms will itch. They pull the sleeves up into the palm of their hand, letting themselves be hidden by the colours of summer. Maybe they are holding onto it, they think. The air is crisp around them. The world is shadowy, with a morningly blue sky above them. The sky is made of lines,...

The daylight is deep and disknowing. We are above, looking down, somewhere far beyond all seeing eyes. Nobody can see us. The sky around us is untouched, unimpeded by anything. There is us, invisible and immaterial, and the Blue. Above us, something cold, something waiting, something ready to fall upon the world in any waking moment. We do not give it spare thought. Today will just be us. We descend today, like a hot iron moving down a button-up shirt, ironing out all creases to the hem, sharing all we are with the world that feeds us, dowsing our abilities and our notions of self into creating a whole new identity. Invisible, forgotten memories fly around as we delve, letting lose our vertigo, becoming a part of the never ending blue. The wind scatters the warmth around us. We see, from our great height, water reflected back onto us. The waves sail past small, dense beaches. We will not be visiting them. We move, down and through, fast and quick, emerging from where memories rest, ...