Time slows.
My surroundings compress,
Buckle at the edges,
Collapse into nothing.
The fresh void draws a wind:
Of solitary walks
On quiet winter days;
Of sleeping closely
With my one true love;
Of sidelong glances
From mischievous women;
Of a mother's laugh,
And a father's tall tales.

Slower still.
The winds diminish;
A breeze blows softly,
Pulsing with the gentle rhythm
Of delicate breaths:
In and out,
In and out,
In and—

Out of time.
The breeze weakens;
Out of the emptiness,
A presence.
A man I know,
But couldn't hope to place,
Emerges into my periphery.
"It's good to see you again," he says,
Casual and familiar,
Like a very old friend.
"But, I don't remember this place," says I.
"No one ever does," he replies,
"But, you were here once, all the same."
With that, comes a sinking feeling,
And he begins to laugh.
And laugh.
And, suddenly,
I miss the solitary walks
On quiet winter days—
Laughing harder still—
I miss the warm embrace
Of my one and only love—
And harder, now deafening,
Unbearable, unrelenting—
I miss the sidelong glances,
The beautiful smiles,
The chance encounters—
The sound penetrating everything;
Every part of this place shaking, vibrating—
The wind in the trees,
The smell of frying eggs,
Of waking without an alarm,
Of my mother's laugh—
Cracks appear in the ether,
The fabric stretching to capacity;
Fissures, lightning, ripping through the firmament—
Oh, I miss it all!
I miss every last bit of it!
Please!

The laughter stops.
A breeze blows softly.
Softer,
Softer still,
Until the air lay stagnant,
And not even that.