“But how?” repeated.
Because… just?
I thought for a moment. Fading landscapes in tar.
Bubbling, burning impressions. Light melted cellulose frames.
The horizontal space masked above. The space continues and draws forth.
Nodding visuals when questioned. The smell of old wood.
Those fibers torn and smoothed by thousands of salty fingers.
The leather gnawed by mice and insects. That musty smell lingers.
Through glass I see evidence. The question remains.
If I remember hard enough, all becomes real. Is this real?
You’re answered inline, the order received.
Calculations, or has the question finished being asked?
My hands upon the raised buttons, pressing.
Simply because.
