Textling #12

At the moment I am a person in perpetual blur. Imagine a photo developing in a tray of chemical solution, releasing its image languidly, as if from nothing. At my worst I do the opposite: flat as a picture, I fade into a fog of white.

Or maybe focus is all there is? As desire, thinking, phone, book, and crochet hook become the stuff of dreams, I can only be, breath in, breath out.

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