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In the air that became the ground, ice crystals flew.
A strange beauty touches me now, ignoring the sounds and feeling around me.
Enchantment and tinkling--sun making the crystals something new and less dangerous.
Air ground air ground air ground.
My focus is there on one spot, the center of the spiral, the sky ground sky ground sky ground.
Things and people fly past, and I think, why is this always happening?
Everything is slow and drawn out just so that I can analyze and love and admire.
And it never passes my mind that there is red mixed in with the crystal, the blue white gray.
Air… ground air… ground air ground… ground.
I do not realize there was screaming until it is silent.
The crystals are gone, they have settled as glass particles on the dashboard and everything else,
There is no beauty in this pain, and the strange beauty is replaced by terror.
The sun beams down, calm and still and observing, and I am looking up into it, unable to move.
My focus is no longer a focus, but a forced, sleepy gaze up and toward the sky.
Nothing is moving; I am still in the back of this car and everything around me is dead.
And I think, why is this always happening?
Everything is slow and drawn out just so that I can suffer over the knowledge of it longer:
This is over.
And it finally passes my mind that there is blood mixed in with the glass, the sky glass ground.
I lean my head back and cry.