Seashell crashes on seashell, the ringing of a thousand tiny bells
The ringing of a thousand little dead things
There’s a storm somewhere far away, I can smell it
I can see the pulled cotton of the rain meeting the sea
Perhaps there’s something to be said about loose ends and frayed threads
And the lightning, the faraway flashing like a flipped silver coin, 50/50
Flashing like the dying throes of a tarpon
Hooked by the gill
When I reach for your hand the only thing I notice
Is that sand and water slip through my fingers all the same
Side Quest 2024