Steam

You’ve been running out of fuel for a while now. How many sighs can you take before you run out of oxygen? All a fire requires is air.

Staring out the window, one hand on your hip; with the other you take a slow slip. The rain trickles down the pane, but you can’t feel it. In fact, you haven’t been feeling much lately. Even if you put your hand out the window, let your skin taste the raindrops, you wouldn’t be able to feel it. Not really. You’d have to make a conscious decision to recall your hand. You’d have to decide whether it mattered anymore. And in the end, you decided it didn’t. 

How are you? Who are you? Post pandemic, mid pandemic, end of pandemic. How are you? Who are you?

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Riding on the uncertain waves of hesitancy. Your heart beat stays steady. The water is wet, and again, you don’t feel anything. Just a droplet sliding down your skin. Remember when we used to take so much care of those delicate pigments. When we used to notice everything. If it was wet. If it was dry. Cracked. Discoloured. Remember when we loaded it with products to match the screen. Remedied by paper notes and plastic pots. Now there’s no need. After all, who’s going to notice? Who’s going to care? You know how people hate to stare.

You carry on in your little lifeboat. Thinking that something should be moving. Out of sink and irregular. Because the storms are on the horizon, at your sides. Everywhere that you open your eyes. Tormenting the seas. It’s everywhere but inside. 

Watch, idle, as holes are eaten up, swallowed by water. One by one. They trickle in, too much to count. So you stay there, unable to block each hole. Unable to move. The waters are coming fast now. Before, the puddles looked like a little slice of tropical paradise from the coast. Exotic, fascinating. You could watch it merge into the boat like a little baby trying to walk. You could watch and smile. Because it was so small you thought you’d be able to stop it. Before the storm eroded the coast. Before the boundaries blurred. And now there don’t seem to be any at all. The water keeps trickling in, and now you can’t stop any at all. 

Pinch yourself, but it’s not a dream.

©AJMwrites2020

2 Comments

  1. wow so many metaphors you touch the reader on so many levels. as always a beautiful piece that articulates what so many of us feel but lack the ability and finesse to express. emotionally charged and powerful. I wish I knew you in real life, i bet you’re cool in person

    Liked by 1 person

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