THE WINDOW LAW

prose piece

When I began my studies on how time moves inside the brain, the light in those days shone in a way much different than now. The concepts of time and light and the respective movements of both consumed me into their own realms and even until now I am still enfolded. What makes for one aspect proves to serve another. I am one with them and they with me. But I do have enemies. They are people who have faces that shine in light. The people shine when I pass them by and I notice their shining. If it weren’t for the light of the people’s faces I would not know how to move. They are my enemies because they are the ones who want to refrain me into silence. The light cannot be stopped. I cannot be stopped. Stoppage is not an option. I will fight the people if I must.

There are mornings when I wake I hear the sounds of the light. I know it is only time’s way of making itself known to me but the sounds sometimes frighten. I drink coffee as a salve. I wear things over my head to protect me from the sounds. The table shakes and I shake with it. I feel strange and am not able to adapt. The television remains unplugged. If I eat the table I will be full but fullness does not last so I leave the table alone. It senses me. I, it. The sense of things matters and makes for matter that is worse. If I stretch a thing of matter I cease to become.

The two days are here. I am living in them. There is a blood path and I follow it. I do not deviate from the red. The lonely girl above smiles a lot. When we talk through the air of our making I can feel her smile at the side of my head, the side not closest to the window. We will never marry. The window law forbids it.

I use a sled for motion. It is worn but moves. The sled moves me the way it should and when I return the sled returns with me. I can see what happens when I move and I inform the air where I am going and where I will have gone but not until I get there. If I could marry the air I would but the lonely girl above would no longer smile.

This is a room. I live in a square-shaped process of air. A structure gets thrown into the mix and disrupts the motion. I sit at the window and dream of a new law. Something will happen to my eyes. My brain will one day succumb to infestation. The fingers on my hands will dig into air gaps. I will be buried under time and no longer fathom motion. When I cease to exist my studies will end. The time is not near but I can feel the smile of the lonely girl. I open the window and begin my reach.