Un million d'etoiles, un milliard de secondes

There was a single pebble, dropped in a single pool, somewhere in a forest, far far away.
And you know what ripples do. We all know what ripples do.
I feel like I'm being a little bit pushed to the edges right now. The edges of the fabric. The little frayed bits. The edges of the ocean; the white foamy bits. The edges of the circulatory system; those little tiny capillaries at the ends of my fingers that never seem to exchange any oxygenated blood with deoxygenated blood, because they are always cold.

Remember those times, when the light is shining, and the audience is clapping? Remember those times. Things are coming up too fast. Let's play Whac-A-Mole. But not actually. Remember those times. All those, all those hands, held tight, through thin and thick, thick and thin. Hands, hands, erotic hands. Exotic hands? Esoteric hands? Earnest hands. Important hands. 


Like yours. Warmth and strength and so many, many minutes where words were forgotten or whispered or yelled or pushed or pulled or weaved or crocheted or held or cherished or appreciated or adored. The sun is still shining. I remember hills of green. I remember swings. I remember never letting go, and haircuts to match Carey Mulligan's. Don't forget. Please don't forget.
It's not like I could.
On me, and in me, and all around me. For so long I don't remember otherwise.