By Icess Fernandez Rojas
There is a quiet to our stillness that wasn’t there before.
It gives me comfort like coco on a snowy day. And I feel closer to you; beyond the guarded picket fence you call your true self.
In the space between stanzas, the gap between neurons, I don’t miss our squeaky wheel, our zenith, our apex, and our concentric.
…it’s just noise.
But it’s there like a script to a hundred past conversations and the hundred we have yet to speak.
We’re dancing with a white elephant to a song that doesn’t exist. Feeding pleasantries to the monkeys on our backs. Walking through life attached to smoke and mirrors.
And yet that comforts me too.
Content with a wall of silence. In a plain. In a dimension. In a soundless universe. I hunger for your stillness. A whisper. A murmur. A sigh.
Anything to never hear you say what I know you must…quiet fragments of nothing.
Dear Reader 