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"half of me is ocean. half of me is sky."

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Perhaps This is a Time to Remember What We Have Forgotten

April 5, 2020


    She told you to press your hand to the drywall so that you could feel the raindrops between your fingertips. 
    She told you to imagine that the water was seeping through the plaster -- strands of splintered hair twining past your veins, curling into wet locks. 
    She told you to remember this moment, to promise Time that you would not forget the minutes that you spent with your palm grasping speckles of gypsum, raindrops blooming into the crevices of your skin.

    Yet, the memory swam into a crater -- splattered with masses of crimson retentions, drowning in a thick shadow of black.

    It was the Noise that suffocated it, the constant sound thrumming through your eardrums, the swirling tendrils of smoke that layered your frolicking mind. It blasted everywhere your feet stepped, sneakers chipping the cement; it willed your mind into a rhythm: busy and freckled with forgetfulness -- regret.
    You always had something to do, something for your threadbare hands to absorb, something for your feet to propel you towards. 

    You forgot.

   But now that your plans have been placed in a tattered cardboard box -- wobbly and unsure if they'll ever be retrieved -- you stop. Your feet skid across the yellow-diamond linoleum, your limbs spiral into a chisel of ice -- why are you always so busy?
    You're as uncertain as your canceled plans, mind teetering back and forth as you think, really think -- is this the first time you've ever done so? 
For a second you shovel every pending plan out of your mind, every distraction, every worry. It's only you, your frozen arms -- still and prickled with an array of goosebumps. 

    And that's when you remember.

    You remember the rain, you remember the stardust that once clung to your sides, the cerulean sky that slipped down your throat. You remember. 
    And so, you step forward, the air around you embroidered with silence, your mind no longer swimming. Your hand drifts in front of you, pushing itself into the wall.
    Though the world outside is stricken with panic, with doubt, you finally feel the rain again. You finally feel water running through your fingertips, tugging your lips into a subtle smile. 


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  • WhispersOfGray

    Stunning, it felt so... real. I don't know how to describe what I felt. It's just pure magic.

    6 months ago
  • Loser

    Beautiful use of language.

    7 months ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    This piece has beautiful language and creative concepts that are lovely, and it also has a certain "it" factor.

    7 months ago