i contemplated things that eventually come to an end.
a timer, the transition of day to night,
the evidence that remind us of an event's mere existence
though it may be brief, but ne'er does it mean no impact has been made.
a scar after a cut to the skin,
a crater in the aftermath of an asteroid.
the spark of electricity in contact with metal,
and the lingering emotions from every last flip of a page in a story book
all stories come to an end.
this story talked about a boy so impetuous, he rarely cared.
he ignited fire, played with it, loving the smell of ashes as he knew i appeared to be the aftermath of his smoke.
April 26, 2016 Painting by Samuel Goodell
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