I'll tell it like it was.
Static clung to the air
like ornaments on a Christmas tree
and we were graced with the odd arced lightning.
Oh, it was cold.
I remember not seeing,
my fingers frozen off as
feeling receded from them
like waves on a beach.
how could I even be sure
the forgotten memory of a sunset
lay imprinted on my brain,
and its absence made the night
emptier than ever.
we waited for the moon to rise,
for the clouds to shift,
for the e-lec-tri-ci-ty to stop
(like lost travelers stumbling
in the desert waiting for an
oasis mirage to shatter their
we waited, questioning our existence,
questioning this formation of
questioning the light that remained
(like questioning "how in the world did
I lose that!" and it turns out you hadn't
you'd been waving it, flailing it, even,
(incredulously) in your hand)
and one year later,
one eternity later,
we lie transfixed
the bang that starts it all.
And then we are nothing more than
of ignorant bliss.