When each day feels like three,
and each week passes like a month,
it is hard to remember
that they just don’t see.
For them a moment is still just a moment.
It isn’t filled to the brim
bursting with feeling:
pain, love, wonder, bewilderment,
terror at it all.
Moments grown gargantuan
in their bloated state.
Moments filled not even with their own being
but with the being of other moments.
Moments that could be or weren’t
moments that don’t exist
outside of your own mind.
Moments others can’t see,
because they are here with the one:
the one moment you long to find
buried under the crowd of the rest.
Where you don’t cry for no reason.
Where a sudden noise
doesn’t fill you with dread.
Where you don’t feel elated
despite nothing changing.
The “Moment” that can fill
your being, without consuming it.
The “Moment”
un-bloated and gone in a flash.
The “Moment”
that holds everything.
Right here, right now,
not everywhere, every when.