Storm McKenna Adams Your laugh brushes over my ears, gentle
as the flutter of a butterfly's wings. The smell of the sea gently wafts over us, its melody creating a dreamy lullaby. The soft clouds in the sky are innocent and pure. I am at peace, at home in your company. Our laugh becomes passionate, devouring us from the inside out, creating a Necessity for oxygen never felt before. I feel happy, joyous, alive. The waves grow larger from the wind, and the clouds grow denser as our friendship grows. Yet I can’t help wondering, how will this end? It is rather nihilistic, but Everything pure ends eventually, and I know this will be no different. Will it be painful? Bitter? Will it be a storm of sadness, a flurry of tears? Or will it just be numb, a small disappointment, a river slowly forming into a stream, then running dry? The sun could glare down on our corpse-like bodies, Scorching. Burning. The thought of water and peace entirely consuming, ripping our body with desperation but there would be no water, no sea, no clouds, no sky, no tears. Nothing but the blinding, burning, scorching, searing desert left to shrivel us and break us into a thousand tiny pieces, crumbling into dust. We would both wish for the storm, for the tsunami, for anything but this agonizing numbness But there would be no turning back. Against all wishes our torture under this blazing hell of a sun would continue to infinity. Or your eyes could be a rainstorm with the news. Flying around me in sadness, drowning me in your blinked back tears. I might not be able to breathe, and picturing it I want to cry and laugh and scream and die. The sea would become a tsunami, splitting us apart, filling our lungs with acrid salt water. The clouds become thunder and lightning, electrocuting us as we scream into the deafening silence. Or we could just have a sinking feeling, a paper boat punctured with a tiny hole. Then time passes, the boat sinking slowly, until one day there is nothing left. We would sometimes scoop water out with a small bucket, but it would only slow the process. We would slowly turn away from each other, unclasp our hands, To go in different directions, Never looking back.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Writers
All
Archives
February 2022
|