A feeling had become a thought and it was there above her, shown as a shape in the wordless language of the mind. It hung just out of reach, suspended from a place she couldn’t see. It was large and almost knowable and she ached to know it.
So she reached for it, quickly and gently, just like you’re supposed to, but the second she touched it she knew. This one would be too big to hold.
But she felt it all the same, running her hands over it, trying to turn it into something she could understand. Trying to fit it into words. She couldn’t, so instead she tried to fit words into it. But the thought would take the words she gave and absorb them into itself, getting ever fuller and no less knowable, becoming something she tried to make it rather than something that it was. She saw this but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t bare for it to disappear. She fed it words until there were none left to feed it.
It’s too large, she whispered to herself, too large to keep, too large, too fragile. She tried to force her hands away, to let go of the thought herself before it let go on its own. But she couldn’t, and it slipped itself right out of her grasping hands, past her reaching fingers and away.
She watched the space it left fill up again, as if it were never there. She couldn’t see the lack but she felt the loss, felt it all the way down to the feeling it came from. She lowered her arms, clenching her empty fists, and watched as new feelings turned into wordless thoughts, shapes that hung above her, new and endless and almost knowable.
She allowed herself one more moment of grief and and then she opened her palms, lifted her arms, and reached again.