Kayla called him today, when it was yesterday, there.

      What are you doing tomorrow?

Distance is this funny thing that can be measured with those paper measuring tape strips at renovation stores, or in kilometres, light years, told by some deep and omniscient-esque voice on a space documentary- 4/1 odds being either Morgan Freeman or Jeff Bridges.

      Earth, compared to the universe- or, what we are only beginning to understand- is less than a grain of sand in a sandbox, itself in a larger sandbox, in the sandbox of life.

Awful writing balanced by beautiful images of potential hospitable worlds- flash to video of giraffes, for some reason- flash back to still image of black hole- now ten thousand seagulls landing on the seaside in New York- uh- these images provide the balance, is the point, like with the relationship that is split by land, mountains, and, sure, a couple thousand seagulls screaming mine mine mine…

      By tomorrow, you mean today?

Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat. If distance is there to twist your comfortable robe, seeing if it’ll tear, then social media is the water that gives the cloth resilience, flexibility… or the illusion of it, like rubber bands, Chuck Norris’ Flex Trainer PLUS- AS SEEN ON TV!

      It doesn’t matter where you are, but who you’re with.

      How does that make any sense we aren’t even in the same town.

Using the word distance in the disclosure of your relationship status usually implies that things used to be closer: We have met before. We have touched. She was working at this repair shop- there was this stack of tires outside, and a joke on the sign- in this town. I was driving through this town, and my tire pops, and I’m like right beside this shop, lucky. She walks up and makes fun of my Volvo: That’s my weak spot: When someone has the guts to walk up to me and make fun of my Volvo. If you knew me, and how much I love my Volvo, you would never walk up to me and make fun of my Volvo. Not because I’m violent, I just love the thing. It’d be like making fun of someone’s only child, even if, well, they were a pretty easy target, like the kid who drives a forklift to school. I mean come on. I don’t care how small your town is, don’t drive a forklift to school. Never drive a forklift to school. It’s nice when things align, if, a forklift drives into your car as you’re talking to a mechanic. Things feel meant to be, when time and space connect.   

word by L. Lachance

colour by Patswerk

Author: Word and Colour

words inspired by colour

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