There was birth

a quiet collision of match and wood

formal, distant

Exploration ensued slowly,

but grew exponentially

soon words were absorbed at full gallop

Whimsical nuances,

eons of adoration,

compressed in time,

leading to a single moment:

a painter's studio light, a carpet,

shadows, and fingers trembling with the weight of surreality

a blur of time wove itself together,

punctuated by a heartbeat,

accelerating into the early, dark hours

that irresistible platonic affection

 

Then time became words and

loose ends were tied or avoided

Realisation slowly made its way to the surface,

subconsciously suppressed

automatic

then

in a space

less than that between the lines of two eighth notes:

an engaged liftoff,

and so suddenly a stunned,

instantaneous crash

disbelief creating a pocket of time

where everything seemed slow;

the process of becoming numb

 

There were no survivors

There have never been any true survivors

 

That was the day I truly lived

That was the day I truly died