Too long... but time is relative here.
Sensation of tremors in my arms
My hands feel like two phantoms
My elbows absent
My shoulders floating somewhere else
And I only feel my back pressed against the wall
Locks of hair- like twisted shoelaces
Form patterns on my scalp
The companions of idle fingertips
Weaving idleness into forms of creations
Six years of silence in a six-minute full circle.
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