Ongoingness

Forgetting is the price of presence.

The evening was spun out of thin air itself. Seemingly all at once, wisps of an indelible softness spooled around my wrists; chaining me to the moment. I didn’t mind. Life was flourishing in just the way I liked it. It was spring—my mind in its own self-possessed carefree wilderness. Sure I’ll linger here, why not? My nostalgia is mine to keep after all…