When you were a rock, at the cryogenic moment you sensed your immortality what could you know?
Did you see it coming? The growing reaching shadow. The smut-black shade. The narrowing lightless margin of your unchosen world.
Did you hear the growing silence created by the rushed voices phrasing an indecipherable new language as your space moved off-center?
Did you feel the creep in the room? The silent floating, then slinking, then lightly scratching, effortlessly encroaching inevitable behind your back approach.
Did you touch the stretching hardening inelastic distance from the then to the now?
Did the smell of loss find you unprepared? Malodorous, old-weight imposing unsurvivable thickness to your air?
Did the taste shock you? Bitter, uplifting, alien to your palette, non-lethal but final.
It always comes, bringing the second cryogenic moment and the reality that you are not a rock. That damned human thing!
past is not past 