Small little hours ticking by the back of my hand in tennis back and forth hearing the grunts of players and cries of defeat as shields come crashing down on rainy Normandy beaches so many years ago. Ages of death and defeat and peat and freshly mown grass. Holding a moment in now. Letting it out so it completes a cycle of photosynthesis and evaporation and precipitation and gets its day on the periodic table of elements. Class then was only an hour, maybe 45 minutes. Was it ever embraced? Was it only dreaded? I’m not sure I can’t remember. All I know is an hour ago I was somewhere else. Confined in the blissful suspension of time. Gravity is suspended and it all just hangs there, hangs out. Jackie Wilson Said to just be chill. Freezing hours melt into minutes and evaporate, catapult up into the clouds and hug the Sun. The light is so bright and hot that the molecules transform on impact. I am transforming now. We are all in a state of transforming. Hours grow mold into days, weeks, years. But if time is a social construct, maybe we can take the 2x4s of our life, take out the nails connecting it to everything else and burn the wood to keep our soul warm. And have our anxiety evaporate on impact like those molecules.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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