neglectedcatharsis:

Ticks and Fidgets

It’s a typical Wednesday night
almost the hour when time becomes irrelevant
and my immediate surroundings a liminal space.
When the seconds bleed into minutes into hours, the hand of the clock making its rounds up to the right and down to the left until suddenly it’s Thursday and I have to be up soon to start my day.
But I don’t mind getting lost
in the tangle of nothingness and the quiet contentment of the evening
if it means I’m getting lost with you.

And that’s how we’re here
approaching the hour
when the evening empties its veins of practicality.
The moon is full, standing bright and to attention
stealing the spotlight from poets’ infamous stars.
The video you sent was meant to display your altar to her
of well wishes and your selfless deeds.
I was supposed to look at the significance in the placement of every object,
the color scheme,
the patterns and thoughts that went into it,
and yet I’m watching the edges of the screen
tremble slightly in your buzzing hands
watching the camera

s h a k i n g

with a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

It’s not particularly noticeable,
subtle in its own beautiful way,
you’d have to be looking for it to see it-
But it’s so signature to you.
So many of the small quirks are.

It wouldn’t feel right to listen to you talk
Without the rapid conducting to back it up.
Wouldn’t feel right to watch a video
that was filmed with a soft and smooth hand.
Wouldn’t feel right to see you lament
without your fingertips massaging your brow and those striking eyes roll to and fro in their sockets;
For music to come on
Without a slight bop from you
Or for excitement to well up
and not be accompanied by a spin or a few
b o C e
u n s
like a bag of lively popcorn.

So it’s a Wednesday,
spilling red into a Thursday,
and your liveliness is contagious
evident of my lovesick grin.