there are certain moments
in conversation when
time seems to stop.

I hear myself
as if someone else
is speaking, I feel how
an invisible hourglass has been
upended, and everything
pivots around it.

I remember these
tiny slices of time
as if they were
insects in amber;
my stupidity
half-truths and
incomplete admissions are
eternally captured, enshrined
for me to dissect
cringe over

I think those are
the moments
when part of me disagrees
with what I’m saying, when
there are other words,
other feelings
beneath the surface
that I dare not
look too closely at, and
for a split second I
want to say something
else – but there’s a vibe
in the air that tells me
now is not the time, and
I obey it.

but for some time after
I’ll be wondering
what would have happened
had I taken
the other path.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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