Waiting

The whipping sound of the rotating fan above him, landed inside his ear. The sound echoed throughout his body and everything became still, except his gaze, which pointed towards his cellphone. As his phone vibrated, so did the table and then his lower arm, and the echo produced by the fan in his chamber-like-body ceased to exist. The sound of the local bar was silenced by a pair of words a friend of his had sent.

not physically
but insectly
making sounds
tempor
ary
and all but
one important.
wings
but not physically.
Instead, similar to the
effects of yellow
fever physically
delirious
on the taste of
three words
blue and cold.

His head was fathoms deep within his goose-feathered pillow. His back, fully stretched on his bed with a small rectangular piece of technology next to him. A rectangular piece, through which his eyes were first transported into a small world and then everything else. Another couple of words were sent to him.

a piece of lackless
light
and its ability
to float
and then sink
and then crash.
a thought
small
a feeling
big
like a match
before being lit
and then there is fire
and then there is the
match again
different, but still
a match.
The ground was soggy and the air was still. Standing in place, he felt light; the weight he had before had not made it through. He was waiting for something to happen so he stood still and observed. The horizon was purple and blue and it seemed to be flat and finite. He continued to wait. Impatience drove him to movement, something small, like a step. He lifted his heel and planted it a few centimeters away, but the reaction of the space was not all that positive. The horizon was indeed flat and it was moving closer to him. His blood rushed again as the phone vibrated and small drops of rain, warm, fell upon his scalp.

a pyramidal foot
with the
tip pointed downward
breaking slowly
till its base and unaccepting
of its own fate of
eventual baselessness.
then a
heat wave
against the eyes, ears,
mouth into the insides
and then to the top
of the
head leading the
baseless feet to leave the
ground
and
float,
up
into
the
clouds, then sky, then
out of the
atmosphere,
then into space,
and
then into no space.

As he floated, he found himself floating back to his window. His bed was still flat, but he could no longer stretch his back on it. He was instead hunched over with his shoulders rolled down. He was pressing against his phone. His thumbs were shaking with excitement, so he shakenly waited.

Artwork by Tarsila, "A Lua"