(no subject)
Literal explosions in the sky as an orb streaks white and disperses blue. Celestial orbs stripe the sky, a gold cut through a noonless night. I promise that if we wait, we'll see three more. I count four.
We speak as if the world is on the tip of our tongues while earnestly admitting ignorance. The next statement will brung us a step closer to enlightenment. Never once has the goal been complete knowledge. We roll over conversations, clips of statements reworded and given new contexts. In everyday conversation, the truth seems rarely the subject. On this bridge, lost in the dark, the truth is all that is said. Not simply in the base facts, but in the desire of what must be said, eventually. All the things that bother us as individuals finally come to light under the stars.
(Then I had a cigarette)