Procrastinating with emptiness.

Arrive.

Fingers in hand, 

she walks, struts, crawls.

"Are you ready?" -

"Yes -

This moment, will be the first, the last, the remembered".

Back.

I remember the time it happened.

You, me and that box.

"That box, you say?

What was inside?"

My heart, your hands.

The world, a mere comma between us.

Optional, yet desired.

I'm not forcing you.

"But... that box..."

Yes, the box.

The physical dimensions that contained us.

Separated us.

The papers.

The words.

The letters.

Mere figures on a page.

Nothing makes sense.

Nothing.