Short of breathe, I sigh,
catching hold of some air
in the spaces between my
chest and my heart as I
think of all the reasons
why the universe separates
two halves of a very
similar whole. What is
the purpose of this cosmic
game, this twisted conver-
sation that includes me,
but I’m never there to hear
the words, to utter my assent?

The quickest way from one
point to another is to
beeline for the goal, for
point B, for my doorstep,
for the end of the game.
Checkmate. But no one has
won the match. There is
still a universe to traverse
and we are but cowardly
pawns, unwilling to make
the long way to the other
side of the board. With this
my breathe catches entirely,
empaled by cowardice, my
exhale never comes.

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