contented isolation

Human nature quakes for connectionlike leaves quivering on a branch,the skin quivering under a shakingbreath placed seductively inthe crevice under your jawline.Atoms push and pause,connecting and unwindingalong a garish carousel circlinginto a tapestry of anonymous faces,flushing to harmonize with thestranger across from them.The isolated cries ofthe not so isolated sweetheartsand their drifting hearts floating toanother beat. Pump pump. Pump pump.Silence. Isolationism at its finesteven among the flashing lights ofthe ferris wheel in the center of the fair.It's like candy when you find it,the last bright red lick meltingagainst your teeth and sticking in your gums.The sweet almost sickening tastecrawling in your taste buds,inching down your esophagus,icing your stomach lining until you feel ill.Illness and disbelief at the peaceliving in your veins and breedingin your cells. Disconnectionfrom it all, tearing yourself fromthe breast of connection makes everythingsilent. You're ok. You're alive.You're alone and content.And, god, it is delicious.

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