Heard back from the final microfiction publisher that I submitted “edge” to, and as the ones before it, it’s a no-go. I’m reminding myself that I’m not writing for publication anymore…so the hell with them, here it is. My readership here is probably bigger than theirs anyway.
Age occurring, edges, firming, definition increasing. The essential kept, timeless embedded, the common abandoned. Light marking where it ends, showing the lines of his face.
It was to be a birthday party, and at this exact moment, she can’t remember why. Birth and day ceased to speak with breath and tongues.
The light unsteady as it fell and spilled, uneven and clinging, yellow in the afternoon. The other guests were arriving well into night; this was just for them.
She moves closer, steps slow and definite. He hasn’t seen her yet, his head down, slightly to the side-like, kenning something on the paper before him.
The air breathes for them, choosing the tone, the tempo, the pause and the gasp. They rode, and abandoned. He, still unaware, she, still, fully.
Rotations, a passing of one to the other, a passage, as eyes rotate, passing over. A word pulling, paper falling, feet moving, moment crowning.
He gets to his feet, moving towards her. Stretching, will enforcing, begging, a moment sliding aside, forgotten and cherished. That moment, that specific moment, that air, and light, and moment, momentous, aside, and gone.
And for a while, for as long as they can, two of them, old and timeless, living there, giving life.
Two of them, sliced, branched, branching. In this one of infinite nows, the wave is poised, the foot raised, the light still, spilling but unspoilt. In this one of infinite nows, two of them, the word birthing on his lips, collapse imminent but eternally hesitant. Two of them, now, now, and again, unseen with infinite ache, unfulfilled. Fulfillment brings an end, and for this once, this now, the scent and first wetness upon the lips slips and hides between the length and width of now.
His foot reaches the floor, and they leave them behind. Edges adapt, pressing in, pressure and change collapsing, wave crashing, love laughing, at the traces left before, behind, and now.