The shortest distance between two points is not a straight line.
Even though Euclid’s geometry proves that it is, my heart begs to differ with what my hand has just written. At odd moments, space and time are concepts that refuse to exist harmoniously in my self-absorbed universe. These are the times when a sigh speaks louder–and much clearer–than any strand of words I could ever devise.
Desire, at times, will not play by the rules of the Game. We call it infatuation. We call it lust. We call it the much-maligned ‘L’ word. Frankly, I think you can call it whatever your head justifies–as your heart falls out of your chest.
Thud.
There is a specific chill that wraps itself around your spine. Its wispy tendrils playfully poke at your jaded heart. It’s the kind of chill that blankets cannot warm. It’s a chill that forms spectacularly complex bluish ice crystals on the outer rind of your time-worn heart. Too often, we fear the approaching freeze. But, we must remember that it’s only meant to push our blood with renewed vigor and purpose against the line it must navigate.
We exist in clouds of frozen moments. Words float through the air encapsulated in invisible skins kissed by those very crystals…and our lips. It’s like ten thousand photographs of a smile formed from lips seared into the flesh of our memory. The photographs form a flipbook that fans out and explodes. Individual frames of those images disperse refusing to follow a pre-determined course on their way to wherever it is that they are going.
With all apology to Euclid, the planes we exist on do indeed intersect at various spaces in different times, much like that smile floating in the midst of our clouds.
The line from point A to point B often swerves out of control and off-course.
I pull on the end of my imaginary string and sigh.
