my soul perched at the top of a steep white hill, looking at once in all directions at infinite cloudy crystals of moments surrounding it, each influencing each other, never close enough to touch.
comfortably it rocked back and forth, not knowing which direction came first, not knowing how fast it moved until the wind blew
a little too sharply, and suddenly it was swaying too rapidly, but didn't understand what that meant, and the crystals started moving, lining up in space— some very close, many farther and farther away— till it could only see what was right below it,
and the white hill began to avalanche, and my soul fell into the nearest crystal, floating in line through the clouds in succession, one by one, only remembering where it had been before, scared of what was yet to come, scared of what it used to know.
