I

Meadow,

Questions. Do you know why I am here? It’s been so long. I don’t really know where else I would go. I didn’t think I would be back. I never thought I would be anywhere else.

Visions. So visceral and bright they blur into blinding white light that I cant see past. Disoriented fractals burn my optic nerves. I just want to see. I get migraines from the fluorescents but refuse to turn off the lights. Action potentials surge relentlessly along axons, synaptic clefts overflow with neurotransmitters, yet this anomalous paralysis consumes me.

There is nothing to do here.

Potential. Trickles into my mouth and pools in the back of my throat, choking me, passively. I refuse to swallow it and I will never spit it out. I let it sit there, suspended in stasis, to spite it for ever coming in.

Drowning. I will not be forced to take action. My indolence will probably kill me one day.

Indecision. For as long as I can remember. Inaction is inherent in my structure, motionlessness molecularly encoded. Still I seek it, hiding within it, some kind of Ixodida, idle and greedy. I want all of it but won’t choose any of it. I will sit and wait for the pebbles to grow legs and walk to me.

Divine Intervention. I want it gift wrapped by God, impossibly neat, easy to open, and delivered to my feet. There are so many pathways but I wont choose any of them. I catalyze and supplicate. Anything is better than this stagnancy, but I still I refuse. Sometimes I wonder if I was born without the anatomy made for listening, or perhaps, more accurately, completely lacking a temporal lobe. Or frontal lobe for that matter. Something is missing.

One Day. I will be old, rotten in the Meadow, stagnant and decaying, bugs will burrow and fungi will bloom, finally there will be motion, life will take over and I will be forced to concede. I wonder if I will be content as they gorge? Swallowing tympanic membrane, grey matter and stagnancy.

Yours. Dorothea B