drifting

Sunlight licked the top of the water, flecks of glittery nothing hovering above the surface. Her eyes caught the flecks one by one, like shouts in her eyes, tearing across her thoughts and interrupting the constant flow for a moment. It was nice, to the interruption—to take a break from everything pouring into her. There were days when she felt mentally constipated; so many problems with no solutions, and she felt like a circus elephant balancing on a colorful ball, trained only on the connection to the ball, unaware of her surroundings and completely aware of herself. Her fingers reached out to touch the still water. It wasn’t much, but it was cool and had a mind of its own, clinging to anything that touched it, hugging her veins. She remembered when she used to hug anything that came near her, begging for attention and recognition, hurting for friendship, never satisfied by what she had. Her breath echoed in her ears, reminding her of the repellent she was wearing, to guard against heartbreak and disappointment. The noise sounded as a reminder of her painful awareness of her own solitude, and at the same time of her stubbornness. In and out, her breath felt alive in her mouth and jumped into her stomach, filling every bit of her, choosing to both fill and expose her emptiness. Help, she wanted to cry, help me, I’m still falling, I’m still broken, but she couldn’t. She was too afraid that someone would hear her.