Too Much Thinking

Sometimes I’m certain that patterns within patterns within patterns are the puzzle, and the puzzle’s solution. We’re spheres within spheres, made of spheres. Everything comes down to angle and trajectory while we spiral, accelerating either away from our beginning–


–or into our end.


And maybe the reason there are discrete numbers and infinite arrays are the same reason light’s a particle and a wave. The same reason there’s black and white, and a whole lot of gray. The same reason there’s a thousand ways the sun shines, but a definite night and day.

Back and forth, back and forth.

I get lost, looking up at the stars, sometimes, thinking of you. Wondering where you are, and smiling my (our?) secret little smile. I always kept it quiet, except when I was screaming to the world.

You don’t even know who I am; the songs I can’t get out of my head kiss me to sleep and sing me the lullabyes that I pretend you wrote. Just for me.

They tell me hush, Juliette. It’ll all be over soon. Reboot comes in the form of a needle, a knife, a bullet. 75 years worth of scotch, smoke, unprotected sex and double-bacon cheeseburgers. Or for some, a quick and accidental push of the reset button. I dream. I gave myself a new name. I love. I fear. I hate.

Hush, Juliette, hush. It’ll all be over s–

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Flash and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

0 Responses to Too Much Thinking

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.