But the barnacles and taking on of water tell another story. The faded paint, the broken down equipment tell another story.
The death of those around you that you know but don't. The interconnected webs that make up your reality, the sinewy strands connected to this experience of your own break away.
I find myself looking at today but drawn to past as these moments in time break away. The associations of now become the associations of then.
Death is on the horizon... Always there never visible... Constantly reminded of the moment, hearing the whispers of oblivion. Seeing a haze of grey beset above and below by the colors of life.
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