Friday, December 21, 2012


I used to think realization was the feeling you got when your skin flared up and the hair on your arms turned into thin stalagmites, while your chest pushed into itself like a man-sized "return to sender" stamp dug into your skin.  I used to think it was when your head was so light that you couldn't stop it from rolling around, when your eyes darted across the room because everything was final and you wanted none of it.  I was wrong.  Realization is when all those stalagmites melt, cooling off your skin and then traveling through your arms and into your chest.  It washes away the ink of that stamp when it gets there, and then, impossibly, the inky water rises up into your head, weighing it down, locking your eyeballs in place, front and center.  All that static in your arms is gone, but a dull trickle of black water slowly falls through your chest, not so much an impression anymore, just a murky cloud pooling around your ribcage. 

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