Verse 41
02:13. I read that a season on Uranus can last about twenty-one years. Finally, a planet with realistic emotional pacing.
02:13. I read that a season on Uranus can last about twenty-one years. Finally, a planet with realistic emotional pacing.
02:26. She has been gone eight months. My brain has promoted this to geological time.
02:41. The pale blue disk looks calm in photographs because photographs omit wind, temperature, distance, and text messages.
03:02. People say sudden change is Uranian. The change was sudden. Understanding it has not been.
03:17. I deleted her number and remembered it perfectly. Technology cannot uninstall meat.
03:30. A cat climbed onto my chest and began purring like a small generator licensed by no authority.
03:42. He does not know I am devastated. This makes him excellent company.
04:01. There is something obscene about the universe continuing after private catastrophe.
04:12. There is something merciful about it too.
04:29. Uranus keeps its ridiculous tilt. I keep mine.
04:45. Maybe healing is not standing straight again. Maybe it is discovering that straight was never cosmically required.
05:03. I hate sentences like that when they are true.
05:18. Dawn soon. The planet will still be there, unseen in daylight.
05:24. Absence from sight is getting less persuasive.
05:39. Cat demands food. Enlightenment postponed.
05:47. Fed cat.
05:49. Consider this my first successful ritual.