From the start thought I think my heart has halted, and that I should be dead. I start to drowsily mourn my own awkward end before I understand with a breathed out breath,
Not a chance. Not dead.
I turn my not all that dead head and see from out the kitchen window that the mists linger palpably like stickers on a brilliant blue room divider. Leaves spot the sky like multi-hued spots.
There is no solid. The kitchen clock doesn't go off, and the clock overhead doesn't tick. The feline, found hopping down from its roost on the windowsill, lingers palpably.
I am not dead, yet I additionally don't feel very invigorated.
You sit opposite me, as sweetheart as could be, even with your solidified grin. I trust your fixed state leaves you no distress.
Is this my eternity with you?
Not actually what I had envisioned, all things considered.
I might be unquestionably not dead, yet if time somehow managed to exist, in any straight sense that is, it surely would be.
Without much forethought I set down two bits of toast, consumed on the sides, buttered down the center to the point of nauseating immersion. My cut turns out to be half, at that point a quarter. Yours has not been eaten. I get up from the table and swallow the unexceptional of our quiet, static home. I start to feel that if I somehow happened to shout, the world may very well break to pieces, and you potentially with it. At the point when I re-visitation of the kitchen I tentatively expectation you will turn and take a gander at me, yet I consider it to be I approach, and I know.
The toast has not been contacted.
On the off chance that in this new universe, today is tomorrow and tomorrow doesn't exist, at that point at any rate the world has chosen to end on such an exquisite night. I manage, you in a moving seat and I behind as we travel our twisting route down the walkway, turning into the road and spilling past the vehicles. I push my foot off the ground and hop on the seat as we storm through downhill roads, cruising by bikers and truckers, minivans, and a periodic conveyance man.
On the off chance that I close my eyes and we crash will you feel it? Will I?
Just because I keep thinking about whether I let go, on the off chance that I recline and let myself dive will I freeze in this world with you, my head one second from hitting the ground?
There are no lines for us. None at the historical center, nor at the motion pictures. Envision the sight, you and I evading round notwithstanding the solidified ticket holders who, I can just envision, have been hanging tight for a film far longer than both of us may.
Roller arena rodeo,
All around we go, much the same as we did a long time previously.
Obviously, this time we travel among a lake of the froze, grins despite everything stuck on their faces, chuckles despite everything hooked to their tissue. Me, behind, pushing you over the waxed floor in a manner that had and had not changed,
For the slant continued as before.
Thereafter, we end with a late spring evening frozen yogurt at similar spot as thirty years earlier, hanging tight for the front of dim however fearing for the date to end. Fortunate for me, this one never will, as we watch the sun set,
Also, set
Also, set
What's more, set.
The world feels somewhat like a snow globe as I lie, nearly as fixed as you do, on head of the spreads.
I have started to wish that I could give it a decent shake.
Sun peers in through the drapes and solicits me what I'm so scared from.
I contemplate it myself and realize it is losing you.
I snatch your hand and press.
I pretend amazement when you don't press back.
"What's your name once more?" You asked me with a befuddled grin.
Continuously a grin. You ask me things and it resembles a congregation ringer toll,
What is the time.
What is the time.
What is the time.
You look and you see companions you do not perceive anymore and with that I dread your moderate decay.
I hear it in my mind,
"What's your name once more?"
Yet, you grin.
"What's your name once more?"
However, this grin aggravates it feel.
"What's your name once more?"
Be that as it may, these couple of words felt like a shot intended to murder.
(who's simply the one rehashing now, huh?)
I got myself unequipped for addressing your inquiry, thus my apprehensions requested that the world stop and it savagely obliged.
I keep thinking about whether possibly in another universe or measurement of thought, this occurred and maybe it was I that solidified, and not you. Perhaps I lie in bed as a vegetable, stuck as far as I could tell longing for a you I've yet to lose.
In the event that today is yesterday and yesterday doesn't exist, at that point I wake up to all the conceivable yesterday's of tomorrow.
In any event the world has chosen to start on such a stunning night.
Similarly as in the past, you and I in the kitchen.
No toast.
Sooner or later, the backdrop mists start to move. The sky's spots downpour down on the ground as the feline at last slides to the floor.
I think the kitchen clock has gone off.
You start to move by and by, and you are as sweetheart as you were in all of the previous todays and days to come. You grin.
I imagine that possibly I was the one holding my breath from the beginning, and it was time that was sitting tight for me to get up to speed.
"Goodness, I recall now."
Also, with that, I grin.
