crystals of sand, and this is one

and the ghosts had told her she'd never be in love

shivers from the air conditioner,

constantly murmuring, and tucking

her arms against her chest, bare skin.

a blanket thrown over.

the warmth of his back a reprieve.

cloudless sky, suitcase unpacked.

why does every minute seem like the last,

when suddenly time isn't just time but

tiny crystals of sand to be picked up

and examined. licked clean, relished,

tucked away and remembered.

the world used to be mindless and chaotic,

and now it's summer wind whipping her

thoughts back into her own face.

simple, reckless, and hedonistic.

she wakes up in a room with peeling paint walls.

as the sun was closing her eyes the space

between here and there -- then and now --

narrowed into a hallway of possibility.

became an empty, liminal type space

with outdated patterns drawn on the walls

and a line of cracked leather booths.

he takes her hands, the clocks on the wall

melt back into meaningless numbers and arrows.

it's not like him to be nervous, usually.

the context is lost to time; his words are not.

i think i love you

and a thousand moments happened in one:

fractal the possibilities, watch them all play out.

she stands. he is rigid and does not look up.

perhaps it is fear. she is not afraid, she tips up his chin,

because her heart has become the liminal space

and the liminal space has become her heart.

the room where they kiss is empty.

she has known for quite some time.

her ghosts are near but cannot possess her.

for once, she is sure.

8.6.24