She’s someone that I always imagine lost and, yet, found in mental tornados of thought and experience.
My guess is as good as yours and that’s what makes her supernatural.
Picture this force alone.
She wants to feel like the sky is magnetizing her towards the heavens, and once she gets up there, way, way up across the star-studded sky, she will feel the glorious shower of celestial utopia.
It’s there.
She feels it blow cold jet streams up her spine, making her hair fly towards God.
This feeling is something tangible.
Something that she knows is so foreign to others that it could only be familiar to her.
Then, she will beg.
She will shut her eyes, open her mouth, and let out soundless screams that make the angels cup their ears.
Her eyes will close down the universe.
Straining her brain, she will wish that those blue circles that well up in our eyes when we close them tightly explode, throwing her away.
Back into something that wasn’t there.
Because there has always been a place, and her cosmic mind has grown out of things such as places.
She will plead that the earth swallows her because at least the earth had millions of minds scattered on it, all waiting to be explored.
Little universes. Objects with no places, just stories, narratives.
She will tighten her fists and spar violently with the celestial utopia.
Telling it to command mother earth to eat her up and crush her in the planet's deepest womb of grass, dirt, and rock.
Coming back home to be swallowed by matter itself.
She will never come to existence and that gives the cosmos therapy.
A sigh of relief that this play won’t disintegrate the elements with the conclusion of every act.