Work Text:
A crystal ball lays broken on the ancient floor.
Debris.
They are so many, after this battle.
Consciously, I know that broken ball won’t show me a thing, but it keeps luring my gaze as a magnet – I can’t avert my eyes, because I’m not capable of imagining it on my own.
My future.
Suddenly, a subtle concern creeps in.
This time, I do risk to glimpse it in the cracked crystal.
Nebulous, bleary.
Nothing more.
There are no shapes or colors, nor even tears or pain in my future.
Just a whirlpool with blurred contours.
Nothing more.
Or may be there is.
May be I glimpse something more – flawed sentences, devoid of meaning.
My sentences.
Perpetually unfinished.