I can smell the sea

When your shoulder pops.
Every tendon stretched so that your nerves scream endlessly for relief.
Fingers reaching out, miles short, quivering with the desire to break free of their mortal boundaries.
Thin grey tendrils coiling out, figments of ones imagination.
Wrapping themsevles around a small snapshot.
Disappearing as they lightly embrace your desire.
Drifting away, fading into the distance like so many fine grains of sand.
Dispersed by the wind, dispersed by a dream.
What is forgotten, and what is remembered.
Breaking unspoken truces with the past.
It matters not.
Things shall come to pass unaffected by such wavering.
But perhaps they shall be different.
And perhaps not.

excessive faraghat.
how it doth lead us astray.
curses.