I lay dormant sometimes, my skin stretching tautly to fit the hibernating me. I don’t write, I don’t speak, I don’t breathe; I just quietly retreat into myself and let the rote of life sway me in its dull waters. Occasionally I’ll come up for air and write something spontaneous, but those moments of reprieve are few and sparse, and I simply hide inside myself until I disappear and no one can see the real me. But I know I’m there and I know that I can reappear unexpectedly and surprise even myself, when I yearn for Spring to come and find it only in my mind.