The Small Things

The Small Things 

The little things pull life like the magnetic force of the moon on the tide. Only the magnet is sucked into a moment, an almost nothing that you tuck into the back of your brain. Maybe it moves the tide of your whole life without you knowing it.

Those tiny, monumental things...the visible micro-movements in a cheek after two years of paralysis, soaking in the red from the brick buildings while revisiting a city you once loved, playing board games on a warm July night in front of an open window with your old roommates, the zest of coming up with a word that uses most of your letters in Scrabble...lazy yet true talks and simple evenings...collections of calm moments and rare flashes of truly being there.

Instead the flashiness of florescent fruit drinks and cocktail dresses, of all night dancing and filling the role of the charmer...of "your moment on stage" (whatever it may be) and the rush that accompanies it–gone as the liquid adrenaline gets absorbed and cools until the cells stop colliding.

You are left with the turned up angles of a smile from someone who came to see you and the tingle of their touch on your shoulder, or the smooth softness of stroking the cat suddenly in your lap.

Photo: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/viarami-13458823/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=8281040">Markus Winkler</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=8281040">Pixabay</a>

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi