bubbles

air trapped in water creates bubbles. they float aimlessly and wistfully about the breeze and are broken only when the surface tension of their airy abode becomes too weak.

bubbles are my thoughts. my thoughts are bubbles.

on the south bank of the river thames near the eye of london there are street performers. some of them genuinely interesting or eye catching, others appear ostentatious for their own sake. amidst the performers there is one man who is using soap and water to create a mass of giant bubbles. mostly big round ones, but sometimes long and zeppelin shaped. naturally this attracts children and impatient parents. there is one particular child who chases these bubbles. he revels at his own joy in something so simple as popping a bubble.

i take a picture.

bubbles are my thoughts.
they float, as if directed by some unseen force.
they interact, as if there is any connection between them other than sharing the same source of origin.
they are produced whimsically, as if i have no control over their birth.

but my thoughts don't burst. they seem to have indefinite shelf life. the surface tension in my brain never reaches that critical point. it never weakens enough for the bubbles to burst.

perhaps a severe beating is required to loosen up. maybe some hallucinogenic - there's no going back - kind of drugs would do trick.

when your brain is a giant bubble after a while the outside world starts to feel like one too. leaving your room seems daunting, let alone leaving your house. the ideas, plans and visions you have become increasingly constrained to the brain.

and an introvert is born.