It feels like a rubber band, that loses it's elasticity. You're pulling back, ready to let fly, and suddenly find a sagging scrap of rubber dangling from your forefinger. Or when the elastic in your favorite sweatpants gives out, stretching out to hip size and refusing to come back in to meet your waist. Or the day at the pool that your swimsuit gives out, as you're reaching for the last stroke, the winning pull against your brother. Droopy suit 'boobs', you discover, are not a part of a victor's garb.
There may have been 10,000 pieces, but they all fall to the ground as one. A solid wall of camel and straw. His knees are gone, strength disappearing as the elastic rubber band of the earth snaps him back down.
All Gravity is is a gigantic elastic band. Every push up against it, like a bungied fall down a precipice -- yanked back at the other end.
Does it really matter how many pieces that it took? That he stood for a whole nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine? He snapped, like an avalanche.
I like to think that he'll be back. That he'll at some point, get back up. That he'll realize how little ten thousand is, and talk himself up all 10 hands of camel height. Never mind that it's harder to stretch a band out than to keep it taut. Never mind that he's never done it before.
It's all a matter of mind over matter, isn't it? Isn't it?
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outlining, on the ground in blood chalk the structure of that thing that you need or feel that you need in order to feel full.
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