In the future, I tell a story.

In a crowded room,
I hear myself speaking confidently,
My voice rising above the thumping hearts
And buzzing brains, to settle into their minds.
Anyone in my presence would be listening
With bated breath, eyes staring without blinking
As though to give in to the millisecond bodily function
Would result in the loss of a major event.

In an empty room,
I hear my voice filling the space,
The timbre reaching the farthest corners.
Sun filters through the windows,
Dust moving in gentle ebbs across the floor
As though being pulled back and forth
By the air entering and leaving my lungs.
The silence wraps around me,
A familiar blanket, warm and comfortable
Around my shoulders.

I tell a strange story, one that is hard to believe.
One that is even harder to tell,
It’s details muddy and lost, covered by
A thin layer of time and natural memory loss.
I tell a long story, but it is also short.
I do not know how long I tell this story,
Or if anyone will hear it, remember it.
I only know that if I do not tell it,
No one will.

In the future, I tell a story.
In the future, I tell a story about my life.