HAND-HELD OASIS
However I move this viewpoint, the view stays the same :
a small oasis perched on the bed-point of desert time. Things
shimmer and the scene gets wavy. When I arrive there, it is
not. It has been said that the mind breaks down slowly - a
bit by a bit by a bit. Imprecise words begin replacing the
precision and detail of old. Just a clue that you're falling
away. I guess, much like this oasis, we start generalizing
before we wither, making things hazy, uncertain, and with
very poor outline. In the shimmer ahead, things move about.
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There are so many things that I cannot define.
Already. What that says about me, I just do not know.
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