Lost in Translation

My possible futures
Are full of beautiful, breathing detail
They have names
I lose myself
In their familiar smells
Their touch
Or at least the way
I imagined them to be

In the end
When it’s clear
This future
Is not to be
I have this strange habit
Of distraction
Vivid photos
Of abandoned places
Where once there was life.

This time it’s

Everything is poisoned

Nothing can be touched

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