For every piece of intricately designed, perfectly balanced piece of construction, a tipping point exists somewhere. It may take a good few hits: injuries you can quickly repair with a shot of super-glue, a roll of duct-tape unravelled by trembling hands, some blue-tack wedged between two clashing pieces. But there always exists a tipping point.
I am untethered.
I am lost in space.
I am lost in between the spaces of our words.
I tend to always jinx myself.