Textling #57

Every so often, for a short, giddy while (minutes, never hours), energy allows you to gather yourself, and fatigue no more than a background hum. You sit, chat, smile, not thinking after, or before. It’s like standing at the top of a ladder that juts a little way beyond the edges of a steep ravine, shouting “I contain multitudes!” (even remembering who said it first), and keeping that grin wide when it splays in dank earth. Subsequent days would be spent keening, were it not that thought and feeling require a degree of vitality. Later you suck on that memory as if on a sugar-crammed sweet.

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