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ive always thought of us as a sort of impossible solar system in which each of us is simultaneously a sun and a planet; endlessly and helplessly orbiting each other. sometimes, when i eat next to you at lunch, sit next to you in the classroom, lay next to you in bed, watch you at the dinner table—well—the distance is palpable. it is rigid. unrelenting and endless in the same way that you sometimes are. and yet; i feel as if i can see right through you. in those suspended moments, i am aware of every molecule in the air. i can feel my heartbeat in my fingers and my temple. i can see the way your feet shuffle under the table and hear the sound of your existence. everything is raw and undone. you are raw, undone. you are slow cooked, and pink on the inside.

you look digestible.

in those bridged moments, as you chew on your salad, write in your notebook, turn under the covers, or even simply lift your fork, i can feel us breathe, and i wonder if you feel it too. can you feel me crack my knuckles? feel the smell of my sleepy shampoo? do you hear the sound of me? be hyper aware of your life; focus in on it. pause during the day to day cacophony of war which drowns out any thought or feeling besides that ever flowing present. hold time in your hands, and tell her to slow down. sit with me in this tomb. listen to me as i do with you. you are slow cooked, and pink on the inside. 

do i look digestible too?