This Was the Virus
It started with itching. Then teeth falling out. Dreams got loud. People stopped speaking in words, just sounds. Cities turned into soft, wet things. Breathing walls. Pulsing streets. You’d wake up and your hands weren’t your hands anymore.
We kept calling it a virus. Like names mattered…
No cure. No plan. Just the slow slide into something else. Something hungry and calm
In the end, we did not fight
We accepted, because it was beautiful… (and because it was already too late)
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