The little girl is gazing out of the window, her mind wandering through her illusive world. The fish are around her, like little silver secrets in the air. They are whispering soft words to her ears only. It’s all a circle, it mutters, but no one can hear it because the words are made of soft whispers of light. She leans closer to the glass, pressing her forehead against it, as though she could catch the whispers between the spaces of the swirling leaves.
The fish swim in spirals, each one holding a thought that slips through her fingers like water. ‘Time isn’t time,’ one of them says, flicking its tail in a way that makes the room shiver. ‘It’s just a pause, a dot on the edge of a sentence.’
The fish stop for a moment, turning toward her with eyes full of the universe, and she understands that they, too, are waiting. For what? She cannot say. Maybe for the same thing she is—something to make the circle feel whole again.
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