prose

define infinite

It’s that pit at the bottom of your stomach, that lump stuck in your throat. It feels like something I’ve felt before yet this time it flows outward and extends from my fingertips and from all of the extremities of myself. It falls from my lips, not caring who and what it touches though it hopes you will be the one to catch it soon. I see it in the way I look at couples who are able to hold each other’s hands. I feel it in the way a passerby might give a hug or flash a smile to a stranger who isn’t actually strange to them. I read it in the poems I stumble across online, each one bursting with sensations and memories fragmented by time. I hear it in the songs I’m growing attached to because it somehow reminds me of you even though I’m sure you’ve never heard of them before. All of my sensations are coming alive and for some reason, my brain—that logical self—is taking notice because this is foreign to me. If I could take a fleeting second—because this is how long I have to recognize it and make sense of it before it slips away—to describe it in one word, it would be: infinite.

A SONG TO TASTE || “LIGHTS DOWN LOW” BY MAX