January 10th, xxxy
PRECIOUS IS SILENT FOR a beat. He can not believe his ears. He counts backwards. Outside the window, the city is quieter than he is used to. He can hear his heart beat as if it is a hundred miles away.
This afternoon, the ceiling's design is like a kaleidoscope through his eyes: its numerous patterns and intrinsic details makes him woozy. It is not the news that is disconcerting.
It is comforting. As is the breathing on the other end of the phone. It is what it evokes. Snow is irrelevant. In the grand scheme of things, snow is snow. Whether it falls won't tip his axis.
What it evokes is how real it is. That it has happened. That it is happening. Where he is is irrelevant. So what if he is in another country? So what if he has been plagued by its upcoming existence and what it entails?
