It gets narrow, this passage taken from this side to that,
telling ourselves there is a light on the other end, even if we can’t quite see
it, the wall of this place closing in, so it becomes next to impossible to
breathe, still keep going, going forward always better than turning back, we
already aware of what was and not so much what will be, scared through at what
happens if it gets too narrow to keep going, to keep breathing, to keep existing,
when existence is all that is lift, the bric-a-brac of life littering this
passage, ours behind, more telling the shards of other lives scattered before
us for us to stumble over.
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