Hush now! Are you hearing that? It the loss of something real, and there's an echo. There's pounding, too; a pounding on the walls, the ceiling, like sky and thunder and it's trying to get out. This echo is pouring over and vibrating the house of cards we stand in, shaking down dust and old words from high tiles and shelves. The walls may not cave in, but this room will grow smaller, capturing it's occupants like ants in it's hand, and waiting. It's waiting until this something is finished, until the tremors in the walls overcome the tremors from inside; until the great shuddering we started is buried under this new fluctuation, and then the streams of stillness can run back through, gentle and rinsing away any earthquake evidence laying yet behind.
Don't know when you'll read this, but lemme tell you you're a very good writer. :) Glad I came here!
ReplyDelete