A Night To Forget That I’ll Always Remember
The world is spinning or perhaps it’s just me. I can see the dark spot on the floor where the glass of juice was knocked over and I can still feel the weight of sunglasses collapsing under my foot. Now I can sort of stand up straight and I can sort of hear the lyrics to the music. I can also probably hear the words being spoken or perhaps they’re really being sang. I take a few steps and the carpet under my feet feel like clouds collapsing, not being able to handle the pressure of my relaxed, yet heavy feet. Now I drop myself onto my bed. A collection of pillows and blankets bundled up is now the safest, most comfortable spot in the heavens. I can sort of see a figure in front of me but I mostly feel an arm and a leg wrapped around my body like a maximum-protection seat belt designed to keep me from falling down and through the flimsy nimbus floor below. Now I can sort of see a face in front of me, but I mostly feel two eyes fixing the earth to its axis, regulating the gravity, keeping my furniture from tipping over and sliding about. The world is still for about fifteen minutes or fifteen years. I close my eyes feeling a chest and a heart wanting to escape or explode but when I open them, I see that they’re not just mine. So I close my eyes again, thinking about all the pumping blood and cosmic forces. But then when I open them, I am sitting in my bathroom, looking at my vague reflection through the water in the toilet.
