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Crescendo

The sea comes to a boil amidst wind and night, and the froth-tipped wave ripples along the surface of the water before it arches upwards to kiss the waxing moon. At the height of the kiss, in ecstasy, it tumbles forward over itself, a towering oneness. Its singularity complete, the water rejoins the water.

A conversation bubbles beneath the skin of the mind, every once in a while sending out a fiery spark of retort, recollection, or rejoinder. The tangled web of thoughts pulses like a bundle of blinking Christmas lights being tested before they've been unraveled. Suddenly, one thought breaks free and tumbles forth over your lips. Now the cat is out of the bag.

Two plates of the Earth tilt ever-nearer to one another, each coyly sliding along the other's curves, seeking the rough edges where friction becomes urgent. When edge reaches edge, like tips of longing fingers touching and releasing, they tumble away from one another. The ground above them shakes sleeping beings out of slumber momentarily as the plates slip off into the darkness below.

An unspoken conflict lurks beneath the remodeled surface of a longtime relationship. Things left unspoken and untended become infected. Slowly, stories become cess pools and words become pits in the scar tissue where something will no longer be masked. It smells bad. It feels worse. Eventually, someone bumps it the wrong way and the infection comes tumbling out of the wound. Go boil some water and sterilize a needle. Get some whiskey because this is going to hurt.

Everything reaches its point, then tumbles. Everything has its crescendo. On the rise, we experience anxiety. After the tumble, we experience emptiness. Everything is like this, endless crescendo after crescendo. The wheel of life.