By Melissa Llanes Brownlee
She pushes against the permeability, seeking a way past this viscous reality to the inbetween. There. The truth to temporality.
Quanta slow to perceptibility. Electrons disappear and reappear. The flashing strobe becomes stilled pinpricks in the void, like beacons that summon her.
She is now ephemera, drawn down into the depths of everythingness. Swirling and drifting among pseudo stars, still she searches.
Finally, she is pulled into the lightdark and she is no longer nothing. She feels. Breath upon a proffered neck; arms around a supplicant body.
At the altar of sensation, she worships. Time stretched; imperceptibly frozen between their heartbeats.
I like this, Mellisa. Not that my opinion really means anything. But I like a lot of things about it.
Thank you Richard. I’m glad you like it.