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Butterflies slicing in my gut
The fog was thick ?and white and heavy ?and I couldn’t see past ?my own eyelids. The streetlight was painfully illuminating as I sat in my car trying to fill the small interior with warmth. I watched as the clock’s? red light cast a warm sullen ?glow across your skin-
?My heart thumped ?to the rhythm ?of your languid breaths
I tried to speak but I kept drowning in the meaningless words that spilled out of my pursued lips.
I was like a fish fuddling at the end of a curiously tantalizing line.
And damn, I never thought I’d be here, thinking about the ?past and how much every thing? is different now. ?It’s crazy to think that time passes us so quickly-? like water in a stream passes? over rocks-?continuously and effortlessly. ?I don’t want to be a rock.? I want to be the piece of debris? floating halfway between the ?surface and the tenebrous, murky bottom.? I want to blend and submerge ?myself in the here and now
Stop.
I have to stop thinking.
I focused on the flickering of the porch light from a dilapidated house that hung on the edge of the street.
I wanted to move closer to you because butterflies were slicing your name ?in my gut.
But I knew being quiet was best.
I feared moving, ?because moving ?meant I would ?lose this deafening silence.
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