Being in full stop

If light carried you, dust and wings, gleaming through the pounding waves green and blue and gold of time; if sound had once captured the tip of your tongue fully fleshed with meaning before words; if smell traced the lives you lived within a sea of others’ lives – the thrashing indecision and dreamy awe; if taste had ever told the truth of who you truly were after tears; if touch gave yield to what we imagined ourselves forever to be beside this world;

if you were a body full, here, now and nothing more

would your face still continue – smiling tears and tragic laughter – as you turned away? Would your notes, Marianas harmonies of pathos and ardor, still add life to a memory drowned in years ago? Would the brightness of your unworldly defiance still remain after this day and another and another? Where, surrounded by all this beauty, would be you?

If you, your smile and your sorrow, your hiding and your light, your silence and your thought, could be captured in one perfect picture, would I not live forever frozen in that moment? If you were nothing but a body, full, here, now,

how could I, in stillness, still be me?

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