you think you are speaking to me, but your top notes screech at me, your bass notes boom at me, and you mumble your words through a haze of clicks and whirrs, buzzes and whines, and talkradio static.
you walk toward me, your height and width increasing as you get closer, but this is the only clue you give me. i have no other way to gauge how far away you are.
you bring with you your doppelganger, almost as shadowy and substantial as you are. who moves as you move, but half a head higher, not quite half a body to the side of you, and tilted towards you a few degrees, as though listening to something that only the two of you share.
i know for a fact, because i've measured it before now, that the hallway is wide enough for us to pass, me and the both of you. the hallway even appears wider than measured, what with its phantom wall over there to the far side of your companion. still, i can't see that there's enough room for me here, and i move further to my side of the hallway, until my shoulder brushes this wall.
before you quite reach me, i can tell which you soap you showered with this morning, which shampoo, what laundry detergent you wash your clothes in, and maybe even the toothpaste you use.
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2 comments:
Now you're talking! This is exquisitely rendered. There's a captivating in-betweenness about this piece. You articulate that place where instinct is, in the blind spot of our attention, and you've supplied the rear-view mirror in which to see it.
thanks.
the things in my head so often need fish ladders when i try to get them out in words.
this was one of those rare times when pulling words out of the keyboard felt almost like pulling shapes out of clay, or aetting them down on paper with a stick of charcoal.
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