Leaning on the fence

Leaning on the fence, a blush of smile colours my face, flooding the cheeks and eyes from a simple movement of the lips, like this. My whisper hangs, suspended in the air before me; white as those spider webs, wet with the dew. I turn away. Warm breath dissolves into nothingness like everything, with time. But thoughts… it lingers on. Rippling and breaking like the surface of a puddle, somehow, it settles and nothing’s really changed. My own face, smiling back at me, from that simple movement, like this, like this. I laugh at me at me I laugh and thoughts spin, caught in the wind. Caught thoughts, flapping like frantic birds with clipped wings. Never stopping flapping, the noise fills my head and I shake it. Splash! Upon my page I find the broken pieces dropped as words and phrases: lost fractions of truths I cannot find. Meaningless in being and therefore shouting meaning to the world for sometimes there is beauty, not in the being, but the hole.