Break The Spell
By Nic Smith
It starts with a smile, a glance held a breath too long. A rush of blood to your cheeks. Neither of us say a word, but both think too many. I break the spell, exit left. The night is infantile, infinite. I’ll see you again.
Levity is king, we think, until we wake up with heavy heads and empty hearts. Stumble out into deserted streets, chalk it up to a detour. Afraid to admit the obvious: the road keeps crossing itself. Maybe the destination was never there to begin with.
The track keeps playing, and I’m afraid to push stop. We wouldn’t know what to do with the silence. There are no answers to the questions we’ve been drowning out. A bit louder now, what’s that you say? Tap those feet, bob your head. Eyes wide shut.
It’s not that I need storybooks or honeymoons; but I need more than this. The faint suggestion of solidity crumbles with a breath. No substance; even less style. Can you hunger for something you’ve never tasted?
I know a cooler head will eventually prevail. We’ll pass excuses as reasons and use them like a salve, unsure where the wound is. Imaginary wounds for imaginary lovers. Flesh and bone don’t make this real.
Fading lights bring heightened hopes, the sharp hint of cold somehow tinder to the flame. It can’t sustain, but damn it if it won’t try. Levity? Predictability. Tick-tock. Let’s not pretend we’re not pretending.
It’s not you, it’s everyone. Everyone and me. Me and everyone. No one. The track keeps playing, and the wheels keep turning, headlong toward the past. I’ll see you there.