Things are moving. Fast enough. They seem fuzzy. Seems so. What will happen if I stick my head out? Will it be the freshness of air entering your lungs or just a smell of putrid past making its way to the future?
It is all a blur. Artistic or Alcoholic? I don’t know.
Fireflies in cobwebs. Brighten things before the touch of your feet slithers to the spiders. Way to go.
Are you and me, one story? Fuzzy but Intrepid. Yes it is.