the verge. i sit quietly and let the emptiness fill me. i know its temporary. everything is temporary. but as i’m sitting in first class on some low-end 747 flying overseas at the speed of light, i feel my ears pop. now i could say i’m being figurative, but if the emotion speaks loudly enough, i feel everything has the possibility of being taken literally. ears popping. even more strange than this rapid descent toward the bottom of the atlantic, is the fact that i didn’t see this coming. i watch the stranger next to me. in tears. hail mary’s on repeat now. i can feel the corners of my mouth tightening into a grin. its so strange, the pleasure i get out of bringing you all down with me. born bad. born filthy. you should have seen it coming. in my face, at the very least. haphazard freckles spelling out ancient curses on the world around us. you could have seen it. but you didn’t have the time to play connect-the-dots. you could have seen it in the way my tone of voices changes when i’m passionate, in the way that my mood is so drastically affected by the weather. warning signs. storm signals. the cabin lights flicker. the oxygen masks are deployed. my breath is as easy as yours is heavy. the verge is you standing on the edge of a dream you had once, maybe twice. years and years ago. the one you’ve always known will never come true. this is the verge. the end. or the beginning. of something new. something old. something different. something cold. figurative is literal is me smoking a cigarette as the plane continues its descent. inhibition to the sky. rules out the window. literal is figurative is me telling you a story about a plane that is my life. or at least a part of it. temporary is transitory. life is a big white hallway with no end. life is a box. life is figurative. life is literal. you spend your whole existence looking for the light at the end of the tunnel only to realize you were standing in it the whole goddamned time. and as the plane hits the ocean, i fasten my seatbelt. the verge. a farewell to last night, and the years before. you should have seen it coming. dirty freckles. longest game of connect-the-dots you’ve ever played. the weather is my mood. listen to the tone of my voice. its changing. passion. something real. something literal. maybe figurative. maybe, maybe, maybe. always maybe. never really was all that sure about what was going on. the verge is the void. and i welcome it with open arms.