synesthesia (preview)

An echo down a long hallway, music notes skipping towards the end of the chamber, hand in hand. dischordant and yet harmonic, as if children bounding towards an endless summer afternoon, smelling of grass stains and boredom, fantastic-no, that's not the word-monastic? Chronosynclastic? Myopic? Those didn't fit either. Four fingered hands playing six fingered games, cheating just to lose, a ruse, a bruise, somewhere here there are the proper clues to unlock... something. Something not lost, but buried, X marked the spot but it's no longer there, the cross-stitched fabric torn for its thread, stitches first in the earth, next in cloth, end in flesh. Haptic? Optic? Cryptic? No, none of these, but getting closer, I believe. Mesh and bone, flesh and tone, born and grown, yet noone's home. Empty vessels, vassals, voices marching in time, apologies, explanations, some with rythm, some just broken rattles on an empty sidewalk, marking empty lives with empty steps and empty thoughts. Neurotic? Pathetic? Synaptic... no, wait, yes! Synaptic, a rolling wave, a gunshot of electricity boiling through fibrous waves, Synaptic, chemical ones and zeros. Synaptic! that was the rope to climb, scale, Synaptic, the thread dangling, grasped, Synaptic, until-SNAP.