I stood in the doorways of the grey hotel and watched the silver foxes swim in reverse in the liquid asphalt of the streets. Their robes dripped with rocks and tar as they dragged themselves up the steps beside me. There were seven who stood inside. Seven whose faces poised and mechanized, twisted and turned in hexagonal shapes as they bent and cracked their wrists over a line that curiously sat in the air of the lobby.
When I reached my hand out for the line I could feel them all inside my head and in my heart. I could feel the world and I understood that desperation and loneliness as my hand retreated. One of them stared at me and whispered in my ear like a bone breaking " Arbinel "
I reach for that line too some days. The unobtainable golden veil of a slip in space that takes us all back to every terrible eternity and everlasting triumph. I want it more than anything the days when I'll say something wanting to be understood and I'll hear a laugh, or nothing at all. Staring into your eyes my dears, I'm wondering if you ever reached for that line too. Right now more than ever..I miss you. I don't even know you and I miss you.
