Deceleration

Written by Jacob Ibrag

Five, thirty, two thousand and twenty-four. The

day our blue sky wore off. Deceleration from the steady

spin. A ship slowing down from its sixty-seven thousand miles

per hour pace. A warmth swallowed by deep black hues. A friend that

was always there and dispersed from the rearview. The day became

eight thousand seven hundred and sixty. The nights conspire

with lost stars and moments breathing existence.

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Image by CONNOR BOTTS