Continuum

I'm not even sure if this makes sense but I wrote it anyway and then posted it here and now you're reading it. Cool.

***


I don’t know why people are so scared of it.

Silence.

I think that’s where we discovered each other. In the silence.

She sat there, pouting her lips at the floor and I grew to learn that she did this when she was content, not when she was thinking of things to say.

So I sat there too, with my hand over hers, but with my fingers slipped between hers like keys trying to find the right lock.

I didn’t have to look at her, her face was stitched into the bedding of my mind and the sheets tied a rope down my spine – the first place I’d feel her presence when she invited herself in.

I’d never known anyone to be so there, so present in their being that you’d imagine her heart to be a forest – static but ever-growing – and I was sure that I could count the seconds between the blinking of her eyelids even with my eyes closed.

Everything she did echoed onto whoever was near her. People blissfully ignorant in their freedom of choice but they had no idea that it was no choice of theirs at all. They were the ripples of things she had done and when she stood still, you could hear the purpose escape them.

That’s why I could live in her silence. Because it was more than the absence of sound, it was the world re-wiring itself to fit our moments. How selfish of me to keep them all from their intentions, but how lovely she is, much too lovely for me to change that now.

The truth is, I’d watch the world crumble so I could hold onto this continuum of her.