Stardate 4.5.10

Fresh Ere

It’s the come down. It’s the fear of the withdraw that steeps through the elation. Fogs the glass, locks the doors and warns that it is dangerous outside. Wipe away the moisture and squint to peer through the beads of sweat the windows pouring.

All I see is slow motion caught up in snow and ice, with careful steps and cupped breathing. All I feel is static. You’re outside alone and I’m watching you closely. There is so much work to be done, and I’ve forgotten the feeling that nature brings, a weighted calm that rises with the hair on the nape of your neck. Or a voice that never echoes, just lingers.

I’ll turn pages as you turn tides, move boxes as you move branches and hold handles as your handle on everything loosens. You’re a series of reactions and I’m reacting to a series of attacks. Sleep on pine needles and burn the fallen, I’ll wage war with my own devices and forget about the elements. Hold dominion over my little castle tucked away in plain sight and hold communion with snow on my television set, set my breathing to the flicker of the monitor.

Your heart beats when it needs, skips only in the sight of majesty and you hold your breath when hidden from sight. There is no one to hide this wretched form from, no sight to steal my pulse and my respiration slows each day. I knew you once, and it never occurred to me when I thought of the future and growing up that I would forget myself.