Her,
All the thoughts I could voice that would change nothing – thoughts that cannot slow the world – dwell still at my core. I move and can feel them, pushing out from under. They are there, within, nonce purposed and left. No bursting forth will come; there is no salvation for the parceled out heart. The body senses what is gone and at the same time realizes that the pieces that remain are not meant to do, that these holes cannot be plugged from within.
But these are not the pains of forgetting, wounds left unnoticed until times of crisis. No, these legs of whales are constant and ever kicking out from inside. I feel them when I go to speak, they try to run and leap – to bridge the distance between us. That look of anguish on face, the appearance as if I have been gut-punched, it is all true. To speak to you is to be kicked from the inside.
— jeff
