On the second day, I got so deep into the internet I felt dizzy when I emerged. Fasting makes you hungry. My head spun.
The coffee shop played songs I'd listened to days before, driving at dusk from Athens to Atlanta. No matter how far I get, everything is the same, down to the very chords.
I looked at everyone dully. The hope to change or to be changed numbed.
It felt too lonely last night: curled in front of the wood red stove, wanting desperately to lean my head against a friendly shoulder, or to read a stanza aloud.
When we broke up, we were sitting side-by-side on a swing set.
He swung high, rattling every foundation. I turned and turned, the metal twisting into itself with a grate and squeak as my toes dug into the wet brown dirt. When I lifted my ankles, the seat spun three times. The motion repeated was violent and dizzying.
There's nothing quite like processing pain in the midst of play.
