tonight the words keep coming, but there are things about myself i don't want to share, and in this mute(d)ness i read the contours of fear. instead i surrender these secret parts to the silent keeping of my notebook.

i feel like i am losing time, yet i am struck with the horror of not being able to do anything to make time move faster. there is something incredibly egalitarian, democratic, even fair, about passing through the same dissipating passage of time. sometimes i fear that the only thing that connects people is that same mechanical movement in a narrow shaft tick-tock hurtling towards the end.