Such hesitation comes in so small a subject. Finely on the surface as soft. Rough where the voice crackles in tone. The moment before it all starts was so long ago. Just as the tower tumbles, you catch eyes. “Ode Crébillon,” you whisper, and it’s falling. Faster than earning crébillon in monetary value. But the memory comes in as if it’s happening and you’re not there. Yet it is. The ground beneath you loses faith in your feet. Guts in your lungs and the feeling of fleeting. Her hands are in your hands and then they’re not. Like a dream, you’re floating. As a kiss tastes like what you make it. Speed and time is of the mind now. And precious and rare and freak moments as these last only as long as they last. The sensation cannot replicate. You see everything and you see her. Nostalgia is riding over bumps in a station wagon. Love is fitting. It’s all hesitant, and hair gets in your mouth. Her eyelashes have peeled back with the lids. Tears blur every last moment until.