“not much”

It’s a lie.

I weave between limbs and smiling faces—quiet, unassuming. A fish on land, a bird underground. Unknown, mysteries, both ways.

And yet!

People talking here a face or two I know there, an uproar of cheer and celebration so loud there is nothing but this moment; a cacophany no a symphony of life and joy and elation. Oh, no sign of the scramble before; a whisper, here and there, of the mad rush until the doors opened— a missed connection with a non-stranger, maybe familiar, maybe just as lost. There are no bubbles here.

We retreat to our caves and I mourn what could have been, refuse the dredge of my own wallowing, try to embrace this newer, quieter moment—to hold on to what was, fleeting, ephemeral and glorious.

It doesn’t matter if that was the “wrong” answer, the “wrong” choice. Elation. A passing glance—so much, in so little.

---