Some futures stay open so long they start to feel like furniture. “terms of service for someday” sits with possibility, delay, and the strange weight of choosing while time keeps moving. Read the full poem linked below. #nuweird #poem #poetry #synthlit #promptalism
terms of service for someday
when i was nine i opened a new tab called LIFE and left it loading. this seemed responsible. the adults were always saying when you grow up ...
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