I wish I still had the photos I’ve taken at random moments of total synchronicity. The pictures mean little to me at the moment. It’s when I get to go back to see and live within that space that they come alive.
I delete because I need space. I need memory. Both in my phone and in my head. Even after we delete we keep the imprints of the thing that’s no longer here. So is anything ever lost? Or already forsaken in an ambiguous ocean?
Here we drown in magic. When it gets harder to breathe I notice again like a recurring dream a steady rush of blood, mad pulsing highways. I am alive. Forever and never again, overlooking the endless.