There is an order to these things, but I reject it.
The greatest crime of this universe against us, as mortal creatures, is that we only exist in one place at a time, and we only experience time in one direction.
I think there's something deterministic about this, and for once I don't find it insulting. There is no scenario in which I fail to fall a little bit in love with your mind.
Everything uncoils its way down into silence and stillness, but I just can't keep my hands to myself, and I give that key another good hard crank. Tell me again? The mainspring creaks in protest, wound too tight. Come on. Play it again? For me. More coins clatter down inside the jukebox. Just one more dance?
If we could live in both directions, twenty years a mere hiccough, hundreds of miles the distance from heel to toe, then this push and pull between us would last forever.
Pas de Deux
Words are the only pieces of you that exist in my corner of the universe. Perhaps that should make a difference. Perhaps that ought to seem less real to me than the pen I'm holding, answering your dare.
I don't know you. You're someone else, somewhere else, but the tides pull on the moon, displacing his orbit imperceptibly nearer.
Oh, look at me, doing all of this backwards.
When lightning strikes, there isn't only a single bolt reaching downward to the high point which drew its attention. A reciprocal bolt rises up from the conductor as well, to meet it.
What I'm trying to say is, would you like to dance?
Pardon me; yes, hello. Do you have a moment?
Iron Noder 2017, 12/30