engr.albertmike

I carry them folded in my chest maps of places that never stayed. Not by memory, but by ingrams.   My visuals are always blurry. Other senses are sharp. Geomantic empathy. Nostalgia can be a stop.   Streets blur into sepia during warm evenings. Rain adds drama to the silent pavement.   I trace them when the night is slow, wondering if the sea was really that blue. If the house still leans toward the same morning light.   Memory redraws what memory ruins, turning rivers into roads, faces into fading cliffs. Darting shadows on dimly lit streets.   Some skies are dark even with no clouds Starlight on a grassy rotunda. Echoes of wary footsteps. whispers absence.   And though I never find the way back. It feels enough to know, that I once belonged somewhere I don’t want to be found. 

Admiring the strength of the hands, the way of handling delicate things. Laugh and just say, “practice,” as if that explains everything.   Kneel only to hear the anticipation, measure the satisfactory proportions. Memorize the way eagerness tightens the voice. Your devotion is quiet, deliberate Patience is learned through someone’s hard work. Guiding without ever needing words. Listening with your whole attention, until even silence starts to tremble.   Take the higher ground like a decision made. Settling weight where control takes Finding balance on one’s shoulder, letting gravity add leverage.   Every rise feels like a question, Every fall, like an answer already knew The way confidence learns to move. Setting the pace without a word. Facing each and refrained conversation Someone’s dialogue of dominance Insults landed closer than the last Response silenced by some other’s tongue   Handcuffed at some point negotiating with pleas and taunts Hands pinne...