Faint lights filtered green through the leaves dance over her still form, lingering on a mole here, a scar there... It is quiet, calm in the deep forest, the warm dark. She lies in the grass and watches the leaves and the light, and thinks. Worries. Work, pain, writing, love, surgery. Destroy the zygomatico-temporal branch of the trigeminal nerve: words that mean new scars and old hopes.
She struggles to put the thoughts together, chemical swirls and electrical storms. Struggles to write, as always, as always.
Abruptly she stands... and staggers as blood rushes about in her body. She laughs at herself, at her awkwardness, at her frustrations and insecurities. Spinning about, making herself more dizzy on purpose now--being unhappy is too exhausting, really, to do for too long.
Stepping away from herself, she wonders about the others. What their lives really feel like from the inside, what they worry and dream about in the dark, in their most secret hiding places. Whether they've found the time and space, the love and breath, charm and beauty to be happy.
She gets tired of spinning and dances there, by herself, for a little while, listening to music piped in from another world, the world where she is lazing in bed and watching her girlfriend messing with her computer, where she is SUPPOSED to be editing that play for her sister not screwing around on an internet forum. (Lazy dork.) Where maybe she would like to shower and get dressed and go see pandas playing in the snow.
I'll always love this place, these forums, 'cause I met my girl here. 'Cause I got to spin and charm, to chat it up with some clever gentlefolks. Discuss and argue, fight and comfort. Learn and teach and be a complete idiot once in a while. But sometimes, things get heavy to carry you know? Sometimes you just want to see pandas playing in the snow.
- S
