-They swirl round in my consciousness, the fragments of the words I’ve been meaning to gather for you, and of the phrases I should have conjured. And every sound I should have whispered in the silences, when you were near. Each moment is transformed by diction; all creation was formed in such a way. A phrase initiated everything. The reason you and I stand, found ourselves, for a moment, in the kind of proximity which causes hearts to syncopate. Words, phrases, and the remnants of those moments inundate the synapses of consciousness, my consciousness. My heart loses its own cadence and quickens in search of the soft pulsing of yours. Even after shadows have been shattered and diminished, and come again in their many forms, and shatter again only to return, I remain in the deluge awakened, perhaps, aware that that first phrase, that initial breath left us yearning always for the next, that that first word was only a beginning. It is more than words and breath now, as if the initial stir had set off a cascade of colliding particles; of breath, of life, of rhythm, and in this awareness we are drawn to discover synchronicity. That reflection which through synchrony bores into us, not just a refraction of light and presence, but such that endocrine rhythms align and the beating of hearts echo each other. I felt the echo of your heart, and I was drawn. I felt my own heart beat, as if it had been disinterred from the graveyard of time and dust, the rust of scars scraped away and from the whisper of your heart’s beating, took a single pulse to pulsate on its own. A cadence exacerbated by the scent of you, by the communion of our lips which I could not resist, having returned from the graveyard of the remnants of all that has been. A sacrament I’ve longed to share with no one, ‘til there was you. Now, my heart still beating, searches for that whisper of your heart, near.
- 163
- 0