You see your fingers move across your keyboard, the rhythmic tapping noise a constant of a background score that life seems to grow around. It’s one of those moments where the whole world around you seems to move faster than it should, that you feel like reaching out and holding on to the cinema reel, and make it pause, slow down, take a break, somehow.
And yet, as you lift your fingers, you look at them with amazement and realise they move slower than life, like a step by step relay of each moment, each movement, where each nerve and each heartbeat pulsates through your very being, in no hurry, like it’s going to be, forever.
So you stay here, stuck, in this amalgamation of time frames that refuse to merge, yet exist all the same, putting together each day, the same as the last, the same as the not-so-promising tomorrow, a mirage of being, a constant.
In black and white.