Sitting.

I only just got here. It seems that way. I always feel like I have just arrived. At the same time this sitting feels like forever. It's neither good nor bad. I want the moment to have more shape and colour, but it just is. I find myself wriggling, whilst being more and more aware of the stillness I'm wriggling in. You seem quite comfortable. I admit I hate you for it. I laugh at my smallness. This is who I am. I am little me, wriggling in the stillness, aching for shape and colour and smiling.