musings of an interstellar femtosecond

The air in the room where I sat all day and read is perceptibly stale

A thought occurs to me suddenly, “that’s the smell of the dead skin cells come off your fingertips on the warmed turned pages”

I glance at the dog-eared novel with disgust and hurriedly wash my hands, my curious compulsions are so unbecoming

Laying naked and cross-legged on the bed, I thumb out several text messages riddled with useless emoticons to wrong numbers

Wondering if this binary will impose upon someone’s quiet dinner or waken them from a lonely slumber of not-jumping sheeps

After all, time does not pass by itself, when you are by yourself

I’ve developed a strange habit of pursing and pressing my lips together when I’m walking around town

Not quite a frown, no, this falls somewhere in between a pucker and clench

Not duckface or prune, not necessary and will most likely bring me a spidery mess of wrinkles all pointing towards my mouth in exclamation

Which I may enjoy, later in life…when all the surprise left has been spoken for


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