iPhone 5 shot
An infinite clear interrupted, we stare at the amassing rage of our distress and long for a return to calm, when words didn’t spill in a confused rush and taint the fashioned balance so desired. To take it back, to melt these utterances under sunlight would be to sear vibrance not only out of the sky, but also from the verdant sprawl below. Despite a surging ache, this misspoken clutter gathers, either to vanish in forgiveness or develop fully into a storm from which soft hearts beg for shelter; each word a drop of rain to fall stinging as acid from tongues swollen by careless reflexes. Our sky bleeds, and this is our beautiful corruption. This is who we are.