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  • Kristiana Roemer

Fragility

Updated: May 20, 2018

A utopian fragility that could withstand the emersion of a world for two, the tangent of two consciousnesses allowing one foggy common land.


I’d been feeding off your minutes. There was no more time for mine. I expanded my cloud of existence. You would not have it— 

it was not my time.


I was happy to be your guest. I’ll let you execute the rest alone, on your own. You know what is best for your next hour of journey. A utopian fragility so liquid as to morph and so sure as not to shatter is what such union would require. I’ll remain your desire right where you keep me: on the shelf in your future selves’ antique store. Value me and sell me for the price you see fit. ...Do I stay some minutes more?


You’ll cherish me for the minutes you feed me over time. And I, I’ll have the space, enough to guard both yours and mine.


I’ll linger close,—  the scent of coffee-breath kissing your nose, my fingers’ tips’ prints on the keys and floors. Scattered in my own mind’s halls will be your phantom, still, that calls me, I’ll come to assist at your social endeavors. I’ll come speak a toast and blow you a kiss whenever it feels clever to you. Our souls are not limitless. You’ve set your borders. The night I asked for a little more of my minutes in our time those borders of yours slammed shut and time stood still.


Nothing’s there to make undone. I have a voice. Did you have a choice? I won’t know. Exploring a new open sea that I’ve now fell upon, you’ve decided to sail on to where you consider yourself free.


What more to hope for  than to use today’s time for more things to explore for my own antique store. You’ve closed your door.


But if one day you can open it you’ll find me on the step. Or at least a small echo in the case that I have left. An echo more grown up, matured on the hot cement. Once born in a garden of fleeting dreams it has learned to accept to sew up its own seams. When you open the door you’ll hear it ring a smile– a kiss, holistic and worth-while. It's a shame, so heart-wrenching to know that no tears will be drenching 

our eyes. No. We’ll be content.

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