Media

11/05/2008
14:27

Two years from now you’ll switch channels, forgetting the humour of the last pannel, where the ink smudges and the image blurs, and you’ll let go of your grudges but your eyes still burn.

And you’re not quite sure what it means, when she smiles and it slows the screen. You’re not quite sure why you care that you pause when she’s there.

So you rewind your steps to her doorstep, with wonder in your lungs muted on your tongue. Don’t blink, because you’ll miss the best part; don’t think, or you’ll have to restart.

It’s a long way back before it fades to black, and you’re ready to fastforward to the middle, where you aren’t second fiddle; you’re ready to skip some lines, in favour of her hand on your spine.

~Noct…………………