Life Between the Crosshairs

That space is empty. I didn’t hear you walk away, but I see your footprints in the dust.

Empty.

It is as if the sound has been sucked out of the world, a defeaning quite that filters only the muted thudding of my heart in its chamber. Photographs hang on the wall, suspended in laughter and hope…yellowed now, curling at the edges, blackened. I will not touch them.

Abandoned.

This room is suddenly stripped of all its colour. Violet, vermillion, canary… bleeding to muted gray, shifting and swirling and becoming thick and endless black before running down the drain. I miss them.

Silenced.

I am no longer solid. I am slipping back into the unreal. I fear it, powerless to resist the pull… north to south and I cannot stop it. Contorted, I bend, I resist, I give in. I am crumbing, feet of clay and hands of ash, flaking…blowing….flying…

Gone.

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