Magnetic Chaos

How do you build out of context? A river surges upward, defying gravity, twisting like a tendon torn from bone. The sensation is an addict’s final inhale, a stake driven clean through the heart. What is the formula? Am I equipped to satisfy the hunger as the waves batter my mind’s foundation? Do I summon a committee of ghosts— past and present, whispering in fractured unison? It’s like watching a film unwind backward, a life undressing itself to the bone. How do I hold it? Do I use a mirror to bend the light, to reflect a version of me that won’t dissolve. The landscape is serene— a portrait of untouched stillness, where war has no fingerprints, where silence doesn’t taste like surrender. I must pin it down before it shatters, before it fractures like ice dropping from a great height. Before I blink and it’s gone— swallowed by the magnetic chaos that calls me home like a hymn I can’t unlearn. Do I have the discipline? Or will my voices wrestle me back into the storm, their hands shaping the snowdrift before I can step free? Do they grant me permission to leave, or am I only ever allowed to stay?