maybe i will lose the whole day. if i don't escape the 24 hours, maybe i will lose a week. a month. a year. a lifetime. maybe we do exist for just a day.repeating the same story. an archaic strain of lives.
memory will play seek again. maybe i will never write again. those absurd blank marks will win and the ink stains will cease to proclaim stories. my story. maybe i will have to start all over again.