The Red Line

Photo by sarathy selvamani on Unsplash

A red line at the bottom of the rectangle, and the heart begins to pound. Searching for a hole in the wall through which to suck from again. Life, time. In the constant race to refill, recharge, recollect. Endless devices around us calling on us, calling us out.

What about our red light inside? when does it light up, signaling upon reaching the end. Where is our cable, through which can we pull the flow back in again, fill the rectangle, recharge. In order to make room for new, how much needs to be disposed of, and how long in between? And what if we don’t. Let it starve out empty.

Let the red line disappear.