Gravity

We were dancing around the kitchen, her blue dress twirling around and her hair whipping in circles, the song on the radio too good to be sung while cutting vegetables. She would laugh in the middle of it because she thought she couldn’t dance, truth be told she couldn’t but that’s not why I loved her. She had this way of moving, of being self conscious of every single step. It was painful and beautiful all at the same time, like the song on the radio.

I hear it echo sometimes, especially right in this spot, each time remembering that inconsequential night that it seems turned out to be our best moment, the calm before the storm. I couldn’t tell you what really happened, the whole thing was kind of a blur, I couldn’t even tell you what I did wrong. There had been this kid who was stuck up in space. The News covered it on loop, how he was gonna be up there for years in the gravitational pull of a planet he forgot the name of. Eventually she came home one day and just said she was stuck in his loop, just like that kid, and she needed to get out. She called me her Gravity.

It hit hard, even though it was such an ordinary word, a word I had never thought of much one way or the other. Maybe I should have paid more attention, I was never all that good at coming up with conclusions. But could I have been? I ask myself every time I chop the damn vegetables, and I remember the way she used to twirl around in circles and kiss me right at the end of it, hard, like it really meant something. But I guess it didn’t really, I guess we just made each other dizzy and mistook what it meant. I thought she was falling in love with me, but we were just spinning in circles cutting vegetables.

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Longing for Gravity

A Short Conversation is a collection of stories, thoughts, and general musing. I like to write like I'm slamming a door; loudly, and with purpose.

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