Friday: “And no, I’m not immovable; hard mayhap to move, but the carpet of my existance can be pulled from beneath me. Swift. Swiftly. So, there. Now you know.” She said. Silence the response, followed by the sound of the air conditioning kicking on, whirling, cool air filling the void of where a voice should have said “I’ll never move you, you know, I won’t. I’d never try” but there never came that reply. And so the void lives still.
Saturday: “If I can’t hold onto the water in my hands I’m just gonna stay out of this well. I’ll stay away from the sea. I’ll move so it seperates you from me, and me from this, and who knows? Maybe I’ll cup sand.” She said. There was music filtering through another room, through the walls, but still the reply never came. The reply not even voiced by phantoms. “Don’t go so far. You never liked sand. I’ll bring a bucket for this water and it’ll all work out. It will. Keep my well…” never came from the void about the lonely room.
Sunday: “I never knew. I knew, yes…but not really. I thought…I thought, but I wasn’t. No. And who is to say tomorrow won’t rain down eyelashes and this stupid clock will get stuck at one second after 11:10? It won’t of course.” She didn’t even bother waiting to hear a response. She turned the light off. Let cobwebs in the corners be her solace and crickets the music of her masquerade ball. There’s no train coming tonight and no voice saying goodbye.
Monday: “Life is like a box of chocolates you find in the back of your closet. You know, the one from that ex boyfriend so and so, yeah, that one. And you open it and you think it’ll be pay day and discover that they’ve turned to powder. Taste like cardboard. The centers are all dried up. Did you know that? That’s kinda’ like you. Yeah, you. But you’re not listening are you?” She asked. It’s all cars speeding by and useless noise she hears. No replies. The sun will rise and set on endless voids until she hears “I always knew, but what was I supposed to do?” and she chokes back “I don’t know” and the dance starts all over again for life is really like a ferris wheel. One large repeating sphere.
by Elizabeth Azpurua
(2010)
Saturday: “If I can’t hold onto the water in my hands I’m just gonna stay out of this well. I’ll stay away from the sea. I’ll move so it seperates you from me, and me from this, and who knows? Maybe I’ll cup sand.” She said. There was music filtering through another room, through the walls, but still the reply never came. The reply not even voiced by phantoms. “Don’t go so far. You never liked sand. I’ll bring a bucket for this water and it’ll all work out. It will. Keep my well…” never came from the void about the lonely room.
Sunday: “I never knew. I knew, yes…but not really. I thought…I thought, but I wasn’t. No. And who is to say tomorrow won’t rain down eyelashes and this stupid clock will get stuck at one second after 11:10? It won’t of course.” She didn’t even bother waiting to hear a response. She turned the light off. Let cobwebs in the corners be her solace and crickets the music of her masquerade ball. There’s no train coming tonight and no voice saying goodbye.
Monday: “Life is like a box of chocolates you find in the back of your closet. You know, the one from that ex boyfriend so and so, yeah, that one. And you open it and you think it’ll be pay day and discover that they’ve turned to powder. Taste like cardboard. The centers are all dried up. Did you know that? That’s kinda’ like you. Yeah, you. But you’re not listening are you?” She asked. It’s all cars speeding by and useless noise she hears. No replies. The sun will rise and set on endless voids until she hears “I always knew, but what was I supposed to do?” and she chokes back “I don’t know” and the dance starts all over again for life is really like a ferris wheel. One large repeating sphere.
by Elizabeth Azpurua
(2010)
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