cy mba l s
2 021 : met hod a nd mad nes s
The Fall Running. Sprinting, dodging, and leaping over a bench, a stack of books, a recycling bin, you round a corner, skidding, off-kilter. Stop. Momentum pushes you, demands that you continue, but you stop. Stock still, heart fighting against your ribcage, thumping in your ears, gasp, like you’re under water. Then, they round the corner. A blur against the empty hall. Stop. Maybe they trip, shoes scuffing, legs caught. They stop, and you start. Eyes wide, smile stretching
across your face, Head cocked to one side. You meet, bodies caught a few frames back, buffering. The ground rushes to meet you. Weightless, a jumble of limbs. Laughter spills, like liquid, all over rugs and walls and windows. A snicker at first, then a tea kettle wheeze. The ground fades. Gravity upended to snorts of laughter, and the ground, reduced to nothing. You fall, and the moment blurs. It smears like the halls that you just passed, eyes streaming. Doubled over and sharp barks of laughter sputter into a warmth, and a rose tint replaces the sharp white.
You cut through the fog, the blurred lens cracked, you land. Your body makes impact with the scuffed carpet, the looming walls come into focus. Breathless, a stitch in your side, your face on the rug you roll onto your back and lie still. Staring at the ceiling, you notice the lights span the grid, the tiles. Soaking it all in. - Danielle Im, X: poetry
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