She's the girl who sits and watches while others live a charmed life. The girl loves to write but doesn't know if she's any good at it. She loves rainbow sprinkled ice cream on a rainy day. She loves to take walks with the wind blowing. Giggling should be made a career. She tells you her secrets in not so many words.
Fingers are the most fascinating things, especially when the air is reeking of tension. They can pretend to dance and be birds on the blue carpeted floor, because you need them just so. I counted them twice over and ended up with 15 in disbelief, only to find the other five scrunched up in a fist in my pocket.
When eyes determinedly refuse to make eye contact, there's always the triangle of the forehead to speak to. Triangles can be fascinating too, if you let them. They become swimming little polka-dotted patterns of brown and pink with a luminosity of 70%. While fingers can transform, patterns have the ability to distract from the pain - which is most evident with just one look in the eye - and both can be counted.
In that one hour, I found myself with 80 fingers and 10 brown and pink dots each. I was glad that there wasn't a way to put an empirical number on this heart, at least not at the present moment where the air was supposed to be light with chatter and excitement. The numbers would possibly be most alarming, warranting immediate expert care.
Try as I may to kid and smile, all I could do was feel the weight. A burden that was, and a regret for its ever present presence. I saw, I heard but I could not move. And it was at that moment that I realised that it wasn't right to keep tearing at the brown paper covering this package. That's probably why the packaged burden, now tied up neatly in brown string, I will let, be chiseled off in whichever way fit.
I will lift up my eyes to you, When my heart starts to fail, Lord, your strength will prevail.