The pen pushes through the paper

Fluid, heavy and slow, coming in like bad news. The heartbeat is faster now. The melted honey (if only it was as sweet!) pours in. Flowing, flowing. Pump, pump, pump, quick, quicker, the quickest. Then a hand, big but careful. It’s crushing it. Gentle and steady, trying to make the heart smaller.
Sun, rain, wind; it’s all pouring through. It doesn’t fit. None of it does. Through the keyhole (who holds that key, anyway?!), someone watching. Someone who shouldn’t be watching, someone who wished for blindness. Looky look. A suitcase. Fully packed, ready to bolt (‘but where to?’ the powerless bag wonders). Inside, a universe, a crowded one at that; one thing on top of the other. A photo album, a kitchenette. Tunes, paintbrush, pen and paper: all one needs to dream away the hours.
Suitcase growing. Raindrops, honeydrops. Memories, they tip toe, serpenting their way in through the masses. The hand keeps pushing. Nothing fits. Acid rain leaking in and out. Faster, faster, bim, bam, boom. The eye that wishes to see no more, sees a miracle inside. The timebomb inside the box inside the suitcase inside the heart inside the cell stops. Fast… and then stops. Fast faster stop. Fast faster stop. Swells and shrinks, swells and shrinks.
Sun, rain, rainbow; sun, rain, thunderstorms. Hand crushing. Acid rain. Puzzle and hustle, it never fits. Crowded universe, memories, tunes, kitchenette, orchestra, timebomb. Stop. A colourful, tragic, explosion.

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