Communicating like a railway track, bars once perfectly-spaced apart. So many ages ago, someone was building what we know now as an insufficient source. Information has bled into the cities via wires we never see, when we used to see ourselves moving inward. We used to watch ourselves watching ourselves in window-reflections from nervousness when we would have to talk to each-other. In public.
      It's always strange to have to accept that someone knows more about the mass inside than you could know. It's strange to accept that they learned what they knew through silent sources never seen or heard; just immediately consumed and spread over the seconds like smooth, warmed butter on dinner rolls.
      When it's time to eat, you're gonna know it's time to eat. Time to open your mouth, spread your lips to wrap around the substance so quickly we'd rather be ashamed of than excited for. When it's time to eat, you're going to know it's time to eat. And I hope to god you've paid attention to where you last took a shit.

     Everything I once thought I knew was a thing I - in some way, would hail to. Each vulnerability revealing itself through me when words would taper... and they'd falter, time and time again. Written in so vaguely, as if honesty could be a sin. So games exchange, and no one is winning. No champions exist if all feel regret, towards one thing or another. And maybe I was sorry for a while... sorry for myself, and sorry for my own denial.
      Like a corn maze when I was so much younger than I could imagine to think as now; lost for words and alone by choice. Where paths intercept and end to lead to nowhere, I can knock down the stalks and push out of the boundaries pre-set to confuse our small minds. I keep searching through the monochrome waves, and I still can't construct the strength through unknowns to find my way out through a pre-set opening.
     When the warmth shifts into cool memories, sometimes we're able to forget what it was that stapled these seconds together. Like a hallway stretching to the exit, so often I breeze by without remembering what it was I hated so much about this mindset in the first place. This place wasn't the first when I stopped and thought - thought maybe this could be the right place, and the wrong time. Or the wrong way to see the time passing. Another year, and another year again pushing space between the gap where two similar entities once hung so hopelessly; writing with vigor at such a close proximity, never to be reached no matter how much of a fantasy.
     When I have the time to slow to a stop, it's easy to notice why I'd never pulled the staples apart at all. You were never worth the satisfaction of knowing what might have been.

Somewhere, inside a time portal exists the most of the most magnificent epiphanies through memory crypts. Some so vivid that some people can't resist. So they're time-portal junkies.

I denied it to myself for so long, that I denied ever sign that was silently set, and diligently read.
I would have never admitted that I wanted to.
I would have rather not admitted that I used to love to think about it.
And now, when it's thought about;
the furthest thing from any real "love".
And you never had an answer to the unclear question.