by Phantazein Studio

Two years have passed and the haze is lifting, along with the dizzying recounting of the details. Buried beneath the layers of time, falsifications, and accidental discoveries, the meaning has been obscured and whittled to nothing.

I have resigned myself to its effects. One could say that I’ve begun to embrace them. The last nerve endings have been killed off and I’m left with a dull throbbing of some phantom sensation I can’t quite articulate.

I take stock of the wasted time that has passed over me, and all that didn’t happen during that stretch of unreality. This is my greatest regret, as I scramble to regain momentum in its wake.

I observe the figures around me, these strangers whose paths have aligned with mine at this twisted juncture, and  I am attuned to a heightened awareness within me- a sudden jump in sensory reception. A twitch of the mouth, a peak in intonation, an unnamed emotion that flickers across one’s face for a millisecond. Each amplified and isolated, its meaning deduced to a startling clarity. While my capacity to feel has been diminished, my cognitive ability to process these minute indicators has been honed to an almost uncomfortable sharpness. As if my intuition were compensating for its deficiency in retrospect.

All of this could have been put to good use while I still had a purpose for it. But I’ve wasted enough energy looking back.

Now, I tumble through space in an irregular trajectory amidst the smoke and debris of the aftermath.

Debris. What a beautiful word to ascribe to such insignificance.