Bubble

I went out on the dock to visit the water. I watched it bend, fold, roll and sway. I was surrounded by fish that broke the surface more often than motors murdered the serenity. I was flanked by columns of tickling bugs. I was surprised by an egret, the epitome of grace, that flew inches above the water and landed twenty yards to my left.

I started each of those sentences with "I" and, in that place...I had nothing to do with it. I was detached from it, in a magic bubble that allowed to me to see, smell, touch, but not join. No, not join.

That's what I do now. I watch. People smile and crack jokes and elbow me in the ribs and nothing. I put myself in the middle of a group of people and watch them whir around me in separate orbitals. I could call it observing, research, curiosity. I could call it a profound interest in people and garble about anthropology. But that wouldn't be true. There isn't a villain in my life story. I put myself in this bubble. Me.

It's wrong to start all of your sentences with "I". And I know it's wrong to stay confined in a stupid "magic" bubble. But lately I've been turning unrelated things into mutually exclusive things. And bubbles are so pretty.