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S unday occurs outside of time.

It’s unfair to call it , really, for this very reason.

But what else is a person to call the space between a-day-that-feels-like-Saturday and Monday-all-over-again?

It is a wedge that is difficult to name and difficult to describe.

It is the place where the loop resets.

What happens there is a trade, but not an even one.

Slowly, Johnny remembers, and slowly, I forget.

I pour myself into her, as if gray matter leaks from my left ear into her right, and with it all the knowledge of what’s come before, all the…

Loops. It was loops of watching and trying and helping and failing.

She will have to watch, feel the desperate flail of trying to stop it sooner.

It will be Johnny calling, texting, putting up billboards (and whispering to fish).

It will be Johnny struggling to pull me out, to save?—

Who were we trying to save?

It’s Johnny’s turn to watch.

Her eyes alight with 100,000 flashes, shame and delight, agony and regret and pleasure.

The feelings I see, but I can’t quite place the why.

What does she?—

It feels like a slow flow of molten wax.

A lightening. An unburdening.

What was noise in my head, a cosmic roar, quiets to a vision of Alice.

Oh, Alice!

To touch her.

To share her space. To feel her near me.

I would do anything.

I can change.

Make her love me.

She can change.

We can be happy together. I know it.