A hovering, glowing sphere.
A floating orb of friction.
A pool that you just ever so slightly touched your toe into.
A surface barely scratched.
A breath grazing the nose, never making its way to your chest.
A day that feels exhaustingly long at 10am.
A quiet buzzing in the background of an empty and otherwise silent room.
A stillness that feels hollow.
A laugh that is most certainly forced.
A look from a stranger that feels far deeper than it should.
A thought that becomes many thoughts that returns to one thought that remains a question.
A sentence that runs on and on and on.
An embrace that is held for too long.
A shallow sense of feeling and understanding.
A grip that loosens.
A movement that feels foreign.
A coffee that tastes like cold dirt.
A stupid poem.
A stupid ending to a list of things that did not compose a poem.
A frustration.
And a loss.
At a loss.