grit.

concrete skids and brittle winds on raw skin: this doesn't come easier with time. loose bundles of fur coated with sweat siphoned from the brain and exhaled into the dryness, the mouth's folds thin like paper, frozen like stone if there was ice under that snow, would it shatter? and yet underneath that unfeeling sky: step, she moves, step, no sight, step, but she moves, each, an unceasing rhythm an engine, propelling forward accelerating, slightly, step, improvement, step, analysis, step, unwilling to despair, for life cannot truly be seen to measure its success, but can only be measured by that beautiful rhythm, and for how long the song can play.