by Will Scott
I kind of knew that it was happening. I tried to laugh as you climbed up there, but I had an inkling. Those hungry little feelings, whiffs of redundancy, of the future, they were never insistent enough that I hadn't been able to ignore your repeated attempts, at least while bruises and a scraped ego were the only outward signs of what was to be. But recently something had caught my attention – maybe it was your musculature, a certain downiness, maybe your eyes. Whatever it was, I was rapt, engrossed, as you stepped out and did not fall. And with an instant, crushing acuity, I recognized evolution, and you were gone.
Will Scott is a visual creative giving writing a whirl to see how the other half lives.