What if?
The scratch of my pen fills the room up with sound.
Silent- they've all left.
And as his blue sweatshirt receded last behind the glass
I heaved a sigh of blissful solitude and desperate relief.
Today is not a day for company.
What if?
I love how every sound in an empty room is loud.
I love how rough and grating my words are
Lent sound they don't possess.
Not meaning but sound, like a rainstorm.
What if?
This morning I woke with a start to muffled birdsong and pale light.
I don't know if I love or hate the morning sun-
It is so unforgiving.
I woke and when I stood up, dazed,
My room was unfamiliar as a crime scene
Full of red and blue splashes and
Bright yellow tape, vivid
But muted like a silent film.
"What if?" I thought,
And I stared at my clothes
Because I'd forgotten what to do with them.
A good long moment passed, holding the cloth,
Thinking that perhaps I was supposed to set it down?
Tie it in knots?
And then instinct kicked in brutal
And I figured it out.
What if?
Now I'm here and Blue Sweatshirt is back.
He is loud and I want to hush him-
It is not a day for speech.
I want to stop the world
Or make it slow like the air is gel,
Dreamy and undemanding.
Distilled, like me, to the skeleton of functionality.
What if?
What if I never see you again?