The Staring Contest

We're sitting in silence.  A stalemate.  I ask you a question and you sit there with your hands tied to your throne.  The hairs on the edge of your nostrils slowly swaying back and forth as you inhale. And exhale.

 

Inhale. 

 

Exhale. 

I keep waiting for you to answer me, one way or another, but you stay still.  Stoic.  The Never Changing One, the Eternal One.  The one who stands on the outside of Time.  But I am inside it.  I am Times desperate prisoner- making a spectacle of myself the more you ignore me.  I want to jump on your lap and pound on your chest with my fists. I am at peace with tantrums, they come easy to me.  They are logical.

But it has no affect, and I'm exhausted.  So I am watching you breath now.  I am sitting at your feet while you are silent, unchanging, unmoving.  Breathing on me, all over me.