Unease

I trade in unease. The feeling of in between moments, when the air hangs and the sentence is half finished. A fly buzzes. An ant crawls over my leg. Heat waves ripple up from the bone white sand.

These are my precious stones, that I shine and polish and rub until the edges are smooth. These are the moments where all else is suspended and for a breathspan, we break through – the mannequins in the puppet show freeze on their strings. The sound of your heartbeat in your ears. The delicious absurdity of this game we play comes out in a throaty chuckle into the silence. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is meant to. What, the fuck, are we doing here? A cat mews.