Escape redundancy.
Parachuting through raindrops, though your skin remains dry.
This is the drop you`ve been waiting for. The climax. The salty air that splices your tongue and leaves the entire world open.
Examine redundancy.
She encloses herself in values. A mark upon the fine hairs grazing the old flannel of her shirt. She does not work, but her clothes are worn.
Tired. Tried. A frayed rope held down to rescue you, brittle with insecurity. Vulnerable.
The rope is safety, while the parachute hangs limply between time and space.
Enter redundancy.
He suffocates in a sea of angel fish. Their fins are fragments of his dreams. Each shallow gasp for air denies his desire.
He is a novelist. His life consists of yellowed pages and the firm reassurance of another chapter.
Correction. Consisted. The next chapter is blank.
Exit redundancy.
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