It All Could End

It's telling how things are changed by the milestones we throw out, meanings attached, like a stone dropped ceremoniously into a pond for the surface waves to witness. Then the days that felt the ripple changed pace. They're gathered each to their respective place at the bottom. A told method for practicing chance, when still they'd have fallen. And no forms of romance required. Not comfort or claim, not even art is desired by the harsher movement of whatever teases the heart from its hiding place.