The Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge: Snapshots
By Jeremy Podolski
Between blinks, I fall into her eyes, deep like cenotes, dark beneath a surface that sparkles like a gemstone. Turquoise or, perhaps, emerald – they are changelings that adapt to my movement and how directly, or indirectly, I stare.
I don’t have time to speak, only to fall, so I rush toward the water, wondering if it will swallow me or spit me out. I consider the prospect of drowning without dying and whether aqua has a scent.
I dive, like a kingfisher, ready to pierce the glass and enter that water womb so I may be born again as hers.
But she blinks before splashdown.
I have nowhere to land. I spiral in space and marvel while there at what can change in a heartbeat.
I only just saw them. Now, they are gone.
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