Grayed In

what if this life right now

is happily ever after?

with me always running seven minutes late

and wondering if what i just said was weird.

it’s a gray sunday, and i’m a taking break from my conceit:

spinning dross into subjective value, becalmed between sleep and sleep.

in my head, this musing;

imagine a fairy tale backwards, starting with the ending posed as question, and left unresolved.