Wait

Swallow and wait. Howl. Bend time if you can but know that waiting is better. Bend time into a loop that hangs from your fingers like maple syrup. But waiting is better. Waiting is time travel in slow motion; howl at the moon in its pleasant stroll across the endless night, howl at the inchworm as it hallelujahs across your path, make note of the patterns of smoke in the dusk as it leaves your cambered lips. Wait. But bend time if you must.

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On the other side of time is what you want. You can see it clearly, despite it being so many rotations of the Earth away. You can see around the Earth, clearly, can see yourself, can see what you want. But you cannot see the time between. This is why we bend time. This is why we flatten our days so they are easier to travel. Why we snuff out moments inconsequential, send whole weeks to the incinerator. How many oozing loops, how much tack, what sweetness hangs from our fingers brought together too soon?

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Take each finger into your mouth; indulge in sweetness. Move by inches. Move slowly, with care, stand up straight and look around. Arrest the moon in her orbit and ask her to dance. Howl at her. Lose your center to a cyclone of butterflies and gather time to stuff back in. Bend time if you must but know it won’t unbend. Wait. Wait.

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