Remember the fog and the times it veered off the tortured earth. Remember it careen down the crumbling slope to where nobody could see it any more. Remember the unturned turns, the labyrinth of pathways leading out to the coast.
Remember the innocent colours climbing gradients of pain.

Search for an edict that wind would never fathom in its unvaried endings. A spare ride into the white unemotional blanket over innocent colours; a blurry smear of motion.

Shapes impervious to the fog seem to hold their stand and haze. A shadowy reality of a distorted illusion. Lost souls looking for their core.
Remember how the fog climbed over the innocent colours in gradients of pain.

The fluidity of the circumstances, the sense that there is a shapeless vehicle out there, stuttering in and out of view, a reminder of a very dark memory dizzying with fear and blood.
A lightbulb in an old streetlamp that doesn’t want to stop flickering.
A remembrance of the innocent colours and gradients of pain.

The fog unveiled an unintelligible contour of patterns and senses. The pace never changed while no inaudible signal came. No end to the fog. No end to the cliffside.
And the memory remained.
The innocent colours and gradients of pain.