Placed in context, any other thing. You can look all you want, you won't find it. The force of character (limited to as to be succinct, poignant).
"You have confused the true and the real."
The look in your eyes, as though there is another person behind them, staring out. The light is too harsh. It was duplicitous, spoken in past tense, a thing so menial now charged with meaning.
I watched as the words were written, recognized them as my own past and began dismantling everything. It was by no means systematic. From point to point, it all goes many miles in seconds. How many apologies must he suffer through before I wake up from this terrible dream? It's a matter, finally, of putting things to rest.
I have resigned myself to the simplicity of statements.
But if I let go of it, where will I find my center?
All of it, back and forth, kept on record.
Ask yourself why it took this shape--the answer contains multitudes, none of which remain standing.
I can still search the archives for the only clues I need as to why I'm here. History is a set of repetitions and I know that I've been here before. Pin it down and dissect it. There is no such thing as a perfect circle.