His breathing, stopped, he found it. Four dimensionally, he opened it.
Its fragility stunned his eyes with convoluted memory tears, while his new inhalations syphoned the colours from the pages – colours that would help him navigate the convolutions –
that’s when he noticed some words were underlined.She had underlined them! But the ones left untouched – he smiled – they were the portal.
when I was walking around trying to avoid the mosquitoes and you strummed your guitar to the rhythm of my steps and the syncopated clouds confused you and we said it was the best thing you had ever written?
Confused by the vapid voices of renewal that languided out of the new year cake, they did used to jump, she recalled,
she thought it was time to do something.
Something had to be done with this pile of the unsaid.
She searched for that wisdom file, the one they’d all spilt wine on at the new year’s eve party. How they laughed. Such a good night.
She wondered if she should rake through those coals over there. Some were still smoldering.
Melancholied by the cold she had a better idea.
As she cast the pile onto her knitting needles, she was struck by how colourful it was…