Left to ourselves

How strange this being, this being together, this moment in curious parentheses, this momentary construct of skin and word — its randomness makes it bearable, a chance event as if the universe rolled a die on a mega-board of compulsive physical forces.

It cannot be that this was choreographed. Preordained. Not you, not me, not this space that contains us, not the space that is still between us… the magic is entirely in how arbitrary this is. How insignificant we are. How vast this space is.

There are far too many variables. Each moment is a revolving door. Different entrances, different exits. Only the moment. Pressed against the sky. Pressed between us. Only the point of crossing. And still you believe this is destiny. Surely then, you wonder if this was the best the big universe could do? Left to ourselves, would we have chosen somewhere, someone, some moment, better?

face to face
with the setting sun —
and then darkness

6 thoughts on “Left to ourselves

  1. A lovely descent in this piece – particularly striking ‘this moment in parentheses’ (it’s so good, I may have to borrow it) – and the image of a brief moment ‘pressed’ against the sky. And that haiku hangs like a lead weight on any hope.

    Liked by 1 person

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