and in an instance, time sits still Or rather, it lays on its back and stares at fan blades frozen between moments of air. It closes its eyes and forgets how to listen for ticking and beeping of second hands and alarms. It forgets its personification, a dehydrated runner who knows nothing beyond the ache of concrete against its ankles and the quiet screaming of its muscles. It forgets what it is or isnβt supposed to do or be and suspends the world in a flash of serenity too quickly forgotten.