snapshot

Monday.

I'm on my back, eyes closed, sharing earphones, blasting Radiohead's ''Nude''.

Around us in the gym, girls are screaming, laughing, running, stomping.

''I am not here.

I am not here.

I am not here.''

I've caught myself chanting, meditating a lot in the past few days. I've also never realized how much I cross my arms, legs, fingers. (I think someone once told me it creates bad mojo, or blocks the flow of positive energy in your body and mind. Or something.)

Anyways.

I'm lying there, eyes closed, Thom York, transcending.

In a few minutes we'll be presenting our routine.

I'm okay with that.

Fingers dance up my ankle,

soflty drumming, pattering, ghosting

bringing me gently back to the gym, the villa, the world.

Her fingers.

up my calf, up my thigh.

I open my eyes.

She's staring absent-mindedly into space, clear blue.

Then she's talking to me.

''On le fait maintenant?''

The routine. Right. Yeah.

Everything seems so far away, so inconsequential.

I don't care about performing or what class we have afterwards, or what I have to do tonight. I just care about what feels right in the moment.

Radiohead in my ear,

her hand on my thigh.

This is what it's all about.

Simplicity and happiness.