It took longer than usual for the sweat from the frosty, icy cup to drip down. It moved slowly...like an old man on a hot and humid day. I sat and watched its journey...mesmerized, hypnotized...waiting, waiting, waiting for it to make its descent. There were moments when it didn't drip at all. A bubble of liquid transfixed to the side of the cup.
In its grand exit from liquid to solid, it eased its way off the cup and dripped meticulously on to the napkin that lay beneath. The napkin waited eagerly to receive the moisture. As it rolled off the cup and on to the paper, it sat there for an excruciatingly long moment. With grace and finesse, with patience and fluidity, it leisurely merged into the napkin....shrinking incrementally....sinking into the dry coarse recycled paper...with one final gasp before disappearing completely, leaving only the slightest trace of its former existence.
3 comments:
That was pure literary genius! And it made me THIRSTY!!!
For some reason, reading this brought to my mind the poetry of Edmund's monologue in Eugene O'Neill's The Iceman Cometh: "I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray . . . ." What a picture you painted, Ms. Lamedman. Fascinating. You have a way with words. - Mike B.
I just had to read this post again. It is so evocative, and I can just see the drop falling and then slowly merging into the paper. It is a wonderful piece of writing. It is fantastic, fabulous, super-duper, special, magnificent. -- Mike B.
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