Sometimes I think things...

Center stage she sits, eyes cast downward, shoulders pulled inward, a twist of hands and fingers resting in a delicate lap. The idea that all of these parts might belong to her is still foreign to this bodyless mind, a mind far from the stage on which her brittle bones are waiting patiently to be realized once again. An imaginary breeze ruffles hair that isn’t quite her own. A breath carefully escapes two cracked and parted lips that yearn for the shapes of words they have not spoken since the mind vacated its true home. Though radiant lights blaze down on this form, no sparkles dance behind her glassy eyes; nobody is there to feel the heat that warms icy flesh. Yet, the breathing continues. A non-existent audience used to look on in anticipation, each member encouraging life and joy and hope to burst from the girl as she were to realize herself. Now they exist each one alone, losing their minds to a more interesting place in which lost minds reside, their bodies left as empty and useless as that of the girl. Occasionally, one will stir, sending an encouraging thought her way or pushing a stray strand of hair behind an ear and realizing both belong to the mind that does the realizing. Some remain mesmerized by the raw beauty of that which sits before them. Others remain mesmerized by the raw horror of that which sits before them, illuminated garishly by glaring artificial lights. To call her dead would be to kind. To claim that she is alive would be too cruel. So they wait. And she never stirs.