Set into motion, the object of desires. The ocean feels as it conveys, striking chords and creating havoc. The sun sets and the complexity of waves becomes a backdrop for the eaves of the horizon. What was once dazzling, becomes a lull of distant crashes. Waves tangling as they sound, and become as they’re borne. Curses of time forgotten, and lack begotten; we come into fate, and rest our hands against her chest. To be here, and then forgotten.

The moon relinquishes its light to the fortnight, as we go back to sleep. The black backdrop of the fallen, becomes a tapestry for the will of creation to go on.

- X