A little bit

I was on the brink at Koustav's rehearsal yesterday morning. A little bit of the frustration was because his choreography had not sunk into my body yet. Most of the sinking feeling came from thinking of and feeling the enormity of the recently encountered quagmire, its numerous problems of allure, rancour, greyness, immiscibility. I must not sit by the little great gold spot again. Words crowd my vision. There is the impulse to conjecture, and there is the need to be Clark Kent. I must not be sucked into the little great black hole again. We exchange mysteries and insecurities. Before the conjectures grow or the feelings fade, I must resist the little great green dot again.