On this steel-gray morning, she sits and stares with shoulders falling forward, stomach reaching thighs, knees bent. Her chest fills and empties causing the only movement in the room, except for the occasional eyelash-clap. She imagines her breath lifting and spinning, creating the same oneness as the incense in the sanctuary, joining the sea of other-breaths and God's omnipotence. Within that sea, there is no difference, no segregation, no separation.
Though her head remains still, its contents are a cyclonic blur of memories and would-be's and can't remembers. Her fingers raise to her forehead, causing the dog to glance upward, tail wagging once.
She knows that the void is coming to a close. is that why i'm scared? The void has never been closed before. The change is overwhelming. She wonders why they always say "nothing's going to change. we'll still be us." true, but, then why do I know there'll be a difference?
She remembers times, runs to escape them, only to be barricaded into remembering more. All of the things that she thinks she's missing. i am. But, she isn't really. All of the things that seemed right. they were. They weren't. Fruitless obsessions, blurred by merlot and cheap beer, appearing so romantic. So spontaneous. So bad, yet good.
Obsession. Not with people, even. With the feeling of ok-uncertainty. And, when all of a sudden life is certain... Well, where do you go?