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(Imagining I'm somewhere.)


White ocean. Thin blue line. Like one line of chalk across paper, slowly falling.


Things were once hard lighting, rust, and a bit of claret. Sounds of a slamming door. Sounds of a lock. Sounds of wind blowing against filtered, mesh screens.


Its almost impossible to view things as a lighter shade under daylight without temperature. I hardly notice I'm on this planet, hearing the shores of evenly flowing atmosphere. Its beautiful.


Ice cream bought from the vending machines with currency I can't recognize in confusion and prices I can't recognize in ephermal bliss. Light blue and red. Darkness wanders, but nowhere in sight or mind.


Its an existential sight, I imagine. A child against this thin blue line wondering about this earth. Or about things compressed on this shore to invisible synth.


The ice cream in his hand dissolves away to leave the bones of a single, industrial stick. Watermarked by factories forever away. He'll never notice. I'm glad.


Things are so spaced apart now I can hardly believe it. It is taking adjustment.


Things are so much simple now. What am I ever going to do?


I suppose I'll live the life I missed out on while I was battling the universe. Perhaps I'm still battling this universe, just in a calmer wind. Too calm, maybe. Bouncing on the shores of fantasy too long can make a thin blue line become a web of night and responsibility.


A night in paradise full of said responsibility. "Hold me", I hear. Before I might've been distracted by a battle in the street. Now I know no one is there to battle. I was only battling the fiends in my... Lest I continue that thought, I am calmed. By what? Destiny holds.


Things are making me feel great tonight.

Things seem too well like paradise to consider it so.


I come from a land of ironies and ellipsi. If those are even words or spellings there of. Everything argues against itself in a circle. People are unsure of life. People are unsure of a world around them. None feel... the breeze. None feel escape at their fingertips.


I feel sanctuary in the open blue line. From afar, a blue dot. From miles and a 180 away, another blue line. Water summoned by death sweeps my feet. I am a blue light blooming of an irrational imagination. This is good ice cream.