kundera at the cafe
this lightness has been unbearable
for as long as I can remember: the acute awareness that everything from our first angry gasping lungfuls to our last rattling breaths are but a trembling hesitation between instances of all-consuming nothingness,
no moment of any consequence nothing stable nothing lasting any longer than a snowflake on your tongue
nothing but an unfathomable flux that only accelerates the fast you try to keep up
I used to wring my hands regarding this constant collapse, in perpetual mourning for all the broken columns, failing to see that where all things fell something else was forming
like the perfect canvas that now blankets this city the blank slate, accumulated flakes of a sky forever falling
and though my tender heart is all the while aching I feel it not as pain but as an opening through breaking
making space for it all to pour into me like the short-lived warmth of this expensive cup of coffee:
the girl on the corner catching snowflakes in her hair next to a man, stepping oh so carefully into someone elses snowflakes
to keep the perfect whiteness pristine, for just a little while longer.
