Bennu Station, 316:7 - Attention
I've been donating my attention to a number of different things at the station lately. The crack in the cheap wrapping they used for my office walls. The three rivets directly above my desk. If I recline my chair and unfocus my eyes, I can make two of them completely overlap. The rust in the corners at the cafeteria, where the solution they use has cleaned right through the impenetrable sealant. The shimmer in the distant stars that I can only see if I force my eyes to stay open until they start to water---the beauty of smeared space when they do. The inhalation and exhalation of my breath, six hundred and sixty times. The fabric of my work suit; a single-thread of polymer that somehow still irritates my skin. The creases in my coworkers' suits. The creases at my eyes, the growing translucence of my skin. The memory of voices that sound from the next room, though it is empty and the voices have grown eternally quiet. The wobble when Bennu adjusts to the gravity of A-class ships that get too close. The channels in my brain that I try to close---the past cannot be accessed. The present. The present. This moment. This breath. Nothingness.