Three deep breaths
The air seems heavier than usual
And it dries my plum tongue into a prune
In seconds
Fingers - a distraction
No longer will I use them as pointers
But as sticks ready to be woven together mindlessly
My stomach flips
As my mind trudges through mud
Continuing to question
To wonder
To look
I swivel my head
Steering away from a world of bleak honesty
To search for a comforting piece of delicious reality