The lines were above us. Spun alive by radar towers, sliced by fighter jets. We knew, somehow, in what we thought was total freedom → there was something else.

imagined worlds about being born fully formed in a fissure ∆ granite rock cut from a lightning strike / ⚔︎ wielding 🜂wooden sword + will: ∴ vanquished sixxx foes in one day

shenanigans aside ☞ … quietly obsessed with structures + inherited / invented…

contorting to fit?? (Y/N)

With all the structure, hardened spaces—imagined + real, feel safe? for a time at least.

// There are always secret openings //