There is a darkness here. Unmended. It wraps around hands and throats and it clutches softly so that we never knew it was coming up until we couldn’t breathe. We were hushed. Into the silence, we took our chances coming to the edge of the earth and then we decided the air is much nicer on the ground. And the wind blew through our fingertips when we said we would kiss in the moonlight tomorrow when eyes had been closed and watchers were asleep we said meet me at the bottom of the bridge at midnight.

We curled up into the morning and hung our bodies along the bed with our mouths open and waiting like little birds. In the morning we chirped at each other from the sides of the table we said feed me give me everything I am starving.

In the quiet of night we prayed for a message from beyond that would make a difference in this place we existed that holds everything we love. It made us feel small and insignificant, like the light of a match could extinguish it all in zero point seven seconds.

We danced, on the fire that burned in the corner and grew larger with each moment that passed. We hoped it would keep us warm but instead we are burned and are still hanging around in the ashes. You said take a plane right and meet me alone and I did and instead it was a place I started to call home but the air has grown thick here and your hands don’t feel like they once did.

They are heavy, we are leaden, and now we gripe along in the hopes that we will be light again, like the walking and talking in circles will somehow help us get back to that place even though we know that circles lead nowhere. Zero point seven seconds. It’s how long it takes to strike a match, it’s how long it takes to say that all of this has been the ball to your chain and you are done feeling heaving and lightness has eluded you for so long.

You make yourself seem like a bird tied at the ankle but I thought we were the birds and we were supposed to fly away together.

I thought we were the birds, for zero point seven seconds.

Jamie Street

Rhyme

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.

16 Comment on “Zero Point Seven Seconds

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