Sometimes it creeps up and seeps into consciousness.
Like remembering a childhood friend.
But it doesn't fade like my favorite pair of black jeans,
nor does it bring the same joyful nostalgia.
It lingers like the sting when burning your finger,
watching the bubble form.
So, you sit on the unbroken sinkhole,
soaking little pools of rainwater
just waiting for the floor to crack.
The rain keeps falling and you keep absorbing.
And the hairline fractures begin.
You drop,
And in an instant like a cruel joke,
It starts to creep up and seep into consciousness again.
