© 2017 City of Broken Dreams
Maybe there was a moment between us.
If there was, then that’s all it was—just a moment: a fleeting fraction of an instant in our briefly intersecting lives.
And I’m not even talking about a kiss.
No, there was no pressing of lips, no wet lashing of tongues, no exchange of electricity via our breath.
It would have been a more subtle kind of moment. A shared glass of wine. The prolonged touching of knees. Maybe even just a passing look.
But as quickly as it came, it would have then disappeared. Like a drop of water fallen onto a hot element. The moment evaporated; the experience vaporized from the present tense and converted to a state of the past.
Perhaps the moment lingered in the air for a bit, afterwards. Like smoke from an extinguished flame, or the sweet scent of a woman trailing behind her after she has just walked out of a room. If the moment was ever a tangible one, once it passed, it became ephemeral. And there would have been no use in trying to grasp onto it as it fled the scene of the crime. For the moment was never meant to be captured or imprisoned. The moment was never meant to last.