scroll raze so many pages fall at our feet. all of them bisected by thin red lines. some stacks slide to the front of the room. we collect what we can, though none of these loose leaves will be coaxed back into the clothes they came in. if i die with my last_words still wet on the scroll that holds all i've ever been or longed to be, i hope you'll pocket the papyrus and carry it with you for however long you go on drawing breath, knowing all this rubicund ink was spilled for you. 260421 what's it to you? who go blather from