An empty window,
moonlight, a shadow,
a dream. The essential elements
in a story. A trigger finger,
a knife. A torrent of rain. Someone
says it's after midnight,
but none of us believe him. Looking down
at the way the light leaks
bloodied onto the tiles, it always
feels like dusk. Afterwards,
an inaudible patter
down the unvarnished hallway. Later,
the first remnants of memory,
dissolving like rain in our hands.
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