She sits on the cliff face, dangling her legs
Sea spumes up to tickle her soles, her soul, while the cables in the distance fray and splay, tipping suspended roadbeds into the brine, cars splashing with them.
She laughs, and coils her hands in the long strands of necklace, twisting them back and forth, and cries again: and the bridge stands unmarred, marred, broken again.
She looks up from the page you're reading, deep into your eyes, and gives a secret smile
"You think you have time, but you dont, you dont...... only I have time, in my hands"
Can you feel the dust of ages, settling on your head?
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