Life is fast and often automatic. Input words derive output speech and actions requiring doing get done. With little pause a moment collapses— and that is okay for they all surely must, but sometimes it would be nice if they halted halfway and said, “Look at me, I am yours.” Staring down into a dripping porcelain bowl with dull eyes and nimble fingers, bladder releasing, breath incoming, mind relaxing, responsibilities falter and time stops. Being is no longer gears winding gears winding hands, for there is a force pushing them, though hidden behind a face, and it says, “Hi.” I.
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