i shouldn’t be solving for all of these frictional and angular feelings, like some tired old mathematician draped over his battle-worn chalkboard. i should be in the wilds of the rocky mountain north, examining bellflowers and fireweed and potentilla and heartleaf bittercress and alpine larkspur (not to mention subalpine larkspur!) aside the trail up to some unnamed mining peak. i ought to be watching the evening sky stretch its deep blue yawn over the world, revealing the luminous astral heavens beyond our daytime and preparing next morning’s soft shimmering dew.
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