This is for you..

 

 

apologetic rainbow

I remember now, the damn point of it all. 

It occurs to me in trickles, slow bursts of momentum

and then a huge wave, flooding me with realization at four-thirty.

It matters. The four-thirty part. 

The limbo between night and day.

Nothing magical happens at four-thirty.

It's utterly unremarkable.

Except today.

Because today, one remarkable text flashes on my phone :

you're an amazing writer, you know that

I retrieve the words back into my lab for testing...

No matter how much I try to cool it, they won't solidify.

I rearrange them, sit them on my tongue

I wait for them to change shape as the sun comes up. But they remain. 

I'm unfamiliar with this formula, with equations that don't equal zero.

As in, zero chances you're ever gonna make it or create anything meaningful.

But now at four thirty...this curious anomaly.

The variable I didn't consider. 

Was that the point didn't have anything to do with me.

It's a freedom of a kind.

To erase myself off the chalkboard. 

It's a burden too, to carry this for you. 

The words are yours as much as mine. 

You, you've been the point this whole time