A Lifetime

It was a warm October Sunday.

I felt uneasy in so many ways.

Words that had not been spoken jumbled my mind, wanting to come out of where they lie to the ears of the one I had been missing.

Josiah.

I couldn't decide whether it was anxiety or just too much caffeine, or was it the people I was with that were holding me back from speaking to my son?

The day crept on, and I needed to remove myself so words could flow. 

Finally, I could go, but the wheels on the car had to turn for an hour before I would get home and be alone to express myself.

Those wheels turned into the garage, and my phone pinged from a friend of his.

Her writing left me in a void, and what was to follow crumbled me to ashes; there was nothing left of me but dust.

At that moment, I knew what was going to happen next had to be otherworldly, or I wouldn't survive. 

That was the day I died, and that was the day everything changed.

In an instant, all I knew disintegrated into dust with me.

My brain and my body are now trying to recalculate all that had been and all that would be.

All my molecules and cells trying to reformulate and find each other.

But they couldn't.

The unimaginable had just consumed my entity, and the possibility of them ever finding each other again seemed impossible.

In the infancy of everything, they began to jive with whatever cell was near, recreating me into something I was not.

I was not what I was, or who I was, anymore.

But what was I? Who was I?

What were they forming and how long would it take, I wondered.

In the void that was now my private planet,

I heard,

A Lifetime.