The Electron

She stares into the audience blankly as they are seated. There’s no music, no sound, and she doesn’t move. She sits on a chair, but it looks as though she’s dancing. She’s dancing and singing and flying and then
She looks up. Not at the audience.
She looks up as if she saw something there that was not.
Is not. Could not. It makes her want to cry, this nothing.
This something that did not use to be. Eventually it is too much and she looks away. Into herself.
Deep inside.
The sun. The sun. It blinds her, overwhelms her, overtakes her. As though she’s moving too fast. Too slow. The sun is moving, she is moving. She spins so fast all the follicles of hair on her body individually sway and pull away from her skin. All the particles, all the atoms, electrons, positives negatives drawing away from her, tempting her to follow, daring her to try. The moisture leaves the air. It is dry, cool. Hard. She looks up. She looks at the audience. She looks up. Did they see that? Could they prove it? Could you prove it?
I saw it. I saw it. Did you?
Am I alone? You’re here. You’re right here. I see you. I hear you. Sniff. I smell you. May I taste you? Can I climb inside your skin? May I hold you close from within your body?
I want to be a part of you. I want to keep you near me, draw breath as you do, see as you do, live as you do.
I sit facing you. I look at you. She looks at you. If I keep looking, will you mind? Don’t mind her, she’s reading you. She’s trying to see what you see, how you see. If I couldn’t see, I’d still see you. With my body. My heart. My chest can see you. With my soul.
I can’t be you, but I want to be. No, she is you. There’s a theory (impossible to prove) but there’s a theory that says there is only one electron in the universe, bouncing back and forth through space and time. So I am you. You are me. She’s me. We are one electron. Or we could be. Want to make electrons sing? Hum? Can I be inside you? I don’t like to be in here. In here is locking me in, locking me out. You know sometimes I feel like I’m outside my own eyes, my own body, knocking at my eyes, hoping to get inside myself. To hold myself close.
No one holds me like I hold me. No one touches the way I touch.
I want to touch this.
She sits.
But I want to touch this.
She sits.
No! I want to touch this now!
Sit down!
If you do not listen, you will feel.
She sings.
Once in a universe dark and cold
A star was born that felt so old
That children who did not exist
Went to bars and just got pissed
On alcohol that just gave way
To sunshine on a brand new day
Can you be mine? Please?
I mean. I know you belong to someone else, but that’s not what I mean. What I mean is
She has trouble with words
No I don’t.
She doesn’t, but finding them
Is not as hard as she thinks – I think –
Be with me. You don’t have to be mine. Really. I don’t want you to be mine. But if you could just
Hold
My hand? Her hand? Sorry, they’re often cold
It’s not attractive, but it is often the case, can that be ignored?
She hopes so.
She looks up again. Sees the birth of the universe, the birth of life and love and chocolate and guacamole. Raises a hand to the sky. From below it does not look like one hand alone. It looks like two hands. Two hands in a permanent embrace.
At the birth of the universe.
A shiver runs down her back.
The world is so big. And she is so small within it. And yet so large.
So infinitely large.
One electron in a sea of one electron.
Thinking, feeling, breathing
TOO MUCH
She cowers, hides in a corner. TOO MUCH.
No. Yes. Too much for one electron. An electron so lost in a sea of one electron. Forming eyes, face, hands body love, hate, loss, discovery. Tears, saliva, cumming.
Cumming.
Coming to a halt. A stop. Yes? No. Electron running. Running.
To what? From what?
What do you think?
What does she think?
Everything. Sights. Sounds, smells, the question.
The question? Yes. The question. The dreaded question.
The one that always requests the same answer.
Answers that don’t fit. Answers that are pre-determined. Jarring.
Why ASK THE QUESTION?
Waste of breath, time, an electron.
Has to be asked. Has to be answered.
Always.
How are you?
Yeah, I’m fine.

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