wordsmith, 06222020.
I fell in love with the 2 o’ clock you. Our vulnerabilities caught in raw conversations. The random blabbers I thought would never make sense once spoken. All these specks of memory that seems forbidden to talk about at dawn.
And for these mysteries of the dusk, I fear nothing.
Nothing-a sudden pause, or plainly an invitation to rest. The moment after shop accordions were heaved after a day’s work. Nothing. The static sound of telly stations past midnight. Your voice bidding goodbye as soon as light peeks through the windows.
I fell in love with the 2 o’ clock you. If I were to glance at the clock from this hour, it’s a midpoint of silence and noise. Good noise. A time of both fear and calm. The sound of our voices cracking over the phone line. The way you tell little rants over grey mornings.
I fear nothing, yet I long for the void (only to find you).
— one shot prose; 1:59
