The sink is holding you.
Porcelain expands to fit every crevice of your clenched fists, stuffing full in your fingers to exert the pressure you cannot. The translucent ceramic cements you there.
Held & whole.
The tiles stretch to fill the floor & catch you. You have no shin, no knee, no thigh, no peg or prop to lift you.
You're falling without moving.
The world holds you.
Nothing can hold you.
The mirror is shaking. You can't lift your head to watch it. You can't move to know for sure but you notice it in a way that requires no confirmation.
The rattling tears through your bones like lightning.
There's no feeling, no sensation; only through the tethers to your soul.
Rooted in the nape of your neck & escaping into nothingness.
A tree so solid it's invisible.
It's your forest. The forest.
The vines extend through everything. All is built on the soil you're standing on; standing within.
Lifting your neck is like shaking off years of ice & snow.
A relic awakens in you.
Lift your head & unlock it.