she almost reached out today. in the midst of mulling over all the complications, all her anxieties, all her loneliness, she opened a window. she stared at the window, it’s pale nothingness showing her the blanks in their correspondence, in their history and in their story.
she dared herself to do it. to reach into the window, all the way through to the other side. to create a beginning, any kind of beginning, that may result in anything else but silence. and for a second she almost did. the caret started moving. forwards, slowly, then backwards at quadruple the speed.
hesitation. an ocean of possibilities flood through her mind. it seeps through every thought and crevice of her existence and dissolves away all reason and resolve. the remaining fragments float away downstream as she closes the window, some pieces crumbling further with the break of every tide. until nothing is left but wisps of dust particles spiraling through the air because they’ve all got somewhere better to be.
the dust settles and forms a thick carpet across old memories; the type that makes you cough when you brush it away while you marvel at its existence in the first place. she notes that it’s gathered in the corners of the window, on the shelves of her bookcase, under her bed.
just unnoticeable enough.