Pressure Steady Thrives

March 14, 2014

Back-to-back they sat, the pressure steady thrived. What beauty in a rock-fall, what glory from the sea. They had vowed to wait, and watch, and be. No warning, no turns, just fingers intertwined, between a rock-face and the sea.

She said, “Tell me, love, what is that you see?”

“The Earth, made manifest, lording over all it sheathes.” He saw the rocks begin to slide and fall, just pebbles to the sea, added, “This is not a fragile Earth, now give your sight to me.”

She saw the water’s frothy journey, its birthplace the horizon, now growing tall and coming close. She liked the way the sun skipped off the swells, they way her heartbeat grew in tune.

He thought he felt her heartbeat, his own was growing slow, and seemed to flow from here to there like wine, inspected by a pallet fine. Together they would die, he knew, and thought that she knew too. Together they would live, she knew, but did not know if he knew too.

The rocks, they crumbled, comforting, in a raucous march. The sea, it rose, then fell and split the air in two. The tension was delicious, you could’ve seen it glisten on her lips and in his eyes, such that in that moment final and only in that moment, the rocks and sea did freeze.

“What a lovely day for a ballet,” he said, “but between the dance of rocks and sea, and your own dance shown once to me, I prefer yours, and mightily.”

Then the water released, the stones met our vessels of flesh and bone and existential malady.

Back-to-closet-wall, he sat, eyes washed open wide. What beauty in a fallen dream, what glory from release. His room looked stark and empty, maybe cold, maybe diseased. He could almost feel it, frozen in that moment final, on the edge, his door, the door across the way, the heat inside her palm, her soul, released.

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