Nothing happened. But everything happened too. You know?
"All the nothing, all the everything."
Life dripped like spilled mercury across the kitchen tiles.
I watched the kettle boil –
nothing moved, yet the air thickened
as if invisible birds were rehearsing a play
in the corners of the room.
The cat blinked at me,
its eyes twin moons mocking my seriousness,
then turned away, unconcerned.
Outside, the wind shuffled leaves in patterns
that made no sense,
and still, I felt the world tilt slightly,
as if history had hiccupped
while I blinked.
Nothing happened.
The mail arrived: a postcard from a neighbor I never knew I had.
The sun sank, ignoring me.
A laugh echoed from a memory I’d misplaced,
murmuring truths I wasn’t ready for.
And somehow,
everything happened too,
as if spilled mercury remembered where it wanted to go.