life, extended

These evenings and nights carry the smell of incense in this restless land. The sun is too hot; the rain comes at the wrong hours. Days have become forgettable and rants audible. These sights and little conversations are ebbing to a place. The world’s a stage, our lives are films, memories shoot back when credits roll.

The wind that sends hair whipping faces, unconscious smiles, racy heartbeats, hungry hearts, immortalized seconds, details that matter will mute sulks.

Credits that roll too fast for reading, we have forgotten what appreciation is.