Austere and stark, like black against some cheap white background, we set ourselves apart, one from the other. Presuming, all the while, our never ending entitlement to more of tomorrow’s unearned wealth.
But without definition or refinement, the morning shadows that we cast are both too easy on us and too exhausting. Never allowing us a single moment to step back. Never letting on that even the dark of night itself can allow us one more chance to find each other.
Our failures, much like Étienne de Silhouette’s, were long ago birthed in a penny pincher’s nightmare. One that is now consuming the full light of day.
Copyright (TZampino) 2020
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