Somewhere along an endless path,
between the last here
and the next there,
the gears jam and lock.

It's easy to lose momentum.

Heavy doors swing
in and out of double-jointed synchronicity,
like the people we call friends,
and the reasons they don't call, anymore.

[ and then, the camera shakes and the scene is cut,
revealing its unreal nature ]

How many mistakes?
There aren't enough minutes
to make them all,
so we do the best we can,
sometimes, just getting really good
at one or two.

Street light burns the coal away,
trading dirt for darkness at dawn,
as the sun winds around
at a sun's pace,
bringing meaning
and life.

And on the other side,
where the night falls,
other people pick up
where we left off,
and we would do the same for them,
a clock's face from now.

We will unlock the gears
and roll forward, again,
but we will sit still,
in the end,
anyway.