Friday, November 25, 2011

I don't mind if you don't mind

And there it is. The memory washes up on shore, unhinges its jaws and swallows me whole. The sun bleaching the grey sidewalks white, the heat fogging up my sunglasses, the cold panes of the record store's door, the black interior chilled like a freezer—
And I hold my breath, trying to hold the moment in, trying to let my lungs fill with it, let them inflate until I float again. But I can't. The moment passes and another breath comes. My chest compresses and my lunges deflate. Oxygen rushes in and the memory rushes out.

1 comment:

follow blog via email

archive