The Cessation

by mistersoto

How long was it before?, weeks before, months before, or….years before?, that you knew. Time escapes, always in the opposite direction and it must have been just painful attempting to extract words from stone. On a desolate afternoon your image comes to me, you like an empty battery, discarded, spent, used up, which somehow led me to contemplate how decisions come to be realised, I still don’t know how these things are measured. But somehow I came to the conclusion that you knew that the world was too small to run away from, distance takes on new dimensions daily, hourly?, by the minute, the shifting measurements distort the sense of gradients that I had relied upon, the equation and the numbers are now nothing but an uneasiness in the stomach.

When I contemplate where you might have been before, what you saw, where you travelled, inches, miles, the distance is irrelevant, somehow I think of concrete, further more, the pouring of concrete, a never ending stream of pouring asphalt, on a hot day, and as I look at a segment of road, the image before my eyes begins to excelerate, faster and faster, until all I see is the oncoming road that seems to be on rotation and the sky, I think of cessation, and at last my vision loosens itself from my control, it spins off, grey concrete, random yellow markings on the road, clouds and sky.

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