From the back of her neck she kept stretching out like an ostrich and I never liked ostriches much, who does
Giant birds or something
But when I held her in my hands there was nothing but eyes looking back and me and all that neck
I would have gone with giraffe but I don’t know where a giraffe comes from
As things got faster folding and folding in upon themselves you couldn’t cut out a moment of anything
It seems like we used to talk about the good old days, nothing but the good old days, then something happened… we were talking about the now
And now we talk about tomorrow
And I couldn’t fold it up fast enough, write about it, film it, blog it, I couldn’t hold it in my hands any longer or make a tee shirt
It was just happing and I kept trying to slow it down or make it stop… I kept trying to slice moments of time out of time
I would wake up early and go to sleep later
Where were the Saturdays the Sundays?
The cold floor beneath my feet next to the recycling, breathe it in and walk around in fermata
Everything feeling good for just a moment, walk into the kitchen across the carpet, past the island where the phone charger was charging and the dishwasher washing, press the glass against the cold tongue of the refrigerator for ice and water
In bed you were sleeping all the neck of you, all the seeing of you and I just sat there in the moment.