A single moment was enough to create this: a retinal distraction when a scatter of light hits and forms an image. Perfection is the harshest term. The shade of your eyes is a curse, it’s a curse.
Don’t look at me.
Don’t look at me, it hurts.
The neurons have fired: a torrential surge through the optic nerve… I can’t find the words.
The warmth of a body in an empty bed… When only the scent is left, only dissent is left.
It’s too late for rational sense, the neurons have fired.
A single moment was enough to create this: a retinal distraction when a scatter of light hits and forms an image. Perfection is the harshest term. The shade of your eyes is a curse, it’s a curse.