Moments

December 12, 2011
One moment.

One small moment.
So insignificant, but not to me.
Never to me.

Everything was harmonious
and rich and bright
and loud and all of it was all at once,
and I swear I forgot to breathe.

In one moment,
I felt emotions of depth and complexity that I can
never truly express.

Not on paper.
Paper isn’t real, paper isn’t alive enough.
Words aren’t alive enough.

I felt emotions that transcended the boundary of writer and paper,
emotions that flowed and swirled about a great untouchable Ether.

My body was lightning and my mind was lagging thunder.
Searing tendrils crept through my chest.
I felt heavy and light, sad and happy,
confused, delighted, all at once.

I could’ve died and been happy then.
I could’ve sang or cried or danced
or just closed my eyes
and let that turbulent whirlwind beat me senseless and dumb and blind,
and I did.

I was dumb and blind, and never happier.

Life was vibrant and colorful in that instant.
In that spark, a whole reality was born.

A whole universe full of life and love,
a creation that we gave breath and life, together, however inadvertent it was.
Whole galaxies where physics was emotion and life was a song,
self-contained, and completely invulnerable.

A kernel of purity on a dismal spring day.
Captured forever, etched into my skin.
You and I together.
Instantaneously complete.

Simultaneously broken.





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