The One Second Piece

She sat in the garage, towards the back by the wooden workbench built along the wall.  Her head hanged over the game she played on her phone while the fluorescent lights above her hummed a monotonous tune to the back of her head.  Her posture was closed, as if she felt exposed in the fishbowl feeling of the space.  The chair where she sat faced the now dark television in the corner.  She had slid back so that she was behind the large punching bag hanging from the rafter, blocking the view through the windows on the garage doors.  A thin column of smoke rose above her head.

She sucked in the final drag and was hit!

A flash of seeing and feeling and knowing;

A glimmer of heartfelt recognition;

A moment…

And it was gone.

Nothing left but the hazy ripple of memory.

A part of her has died.

She didn’t know what she thought it could be.  Did part of her soul body die at that moment?  Has a tentacle of experience been severed?  It couldn’t be anybody she was close to.  It gave the impression of being too far away for that.  Had someone she never knew in this life died?  She sensed unfamiliar love.  A great love from a life past perhaps.

She threw the cigarette on the gray garage floor.

A forlorn flicker, a sad sense;

A burst busted and gone.

It fades…

The pond placid;

A part of her had died.

A part of her soul – gone.