<< Motion to Think >>
2003-18-09, 8:19 p.m.

I think about my hands gripping the thick chain. Each hand wrapped around a metal link connected to another. These links are supporting the black rubber piece under my person. I think about what my hands will smell like. That smell of blood because that is what metal smells like. I think about swinging my legs under me and over me, forcing myself to reach the top. Like the fantasy of finally making it over the bar. I think about my hands disobeying. Letting go of the bloody chains, letting go of me. I think about myself not caring what the impact will be like. My back to the ground, my eyes to the stars. I think about the dirt lifting above me and around me like a blanket in mid flight. It collecting on my clothes, blinding me, and forcing me to slide my teeth over the small sand bits. I think about the lighting of the moon hitting my face. The smirk everlasting at that moment, mocking the moon. I think about you lying beside me staring at the sky, and holding my dusty hand. Your eyes following the red flashing light of an airplane heading for the nearest cloud. I think about myself, thinking about myself, thinking of you. All the while following a small, black beetle next to my head. I think about the sky dropping on us, stars the same size as they appear, fading into the ground like melting snow. You turn over and look at me. I think about your eyes and how they are never lying, your love staring at me. You kiss me. I think about your lips on mine, and how it is just like my impact with the ground. Amazing. I think about this moment forever.

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