Sometimes I feel so very small. I am a speck of a person on a speck of a planet floating in an endless universe. The possibilities are not mine to ponder. I’m microscopic, limited, temporary. My insignificance speaks for itself so I keep my mouth shut while the nonsense shifts around me. If I know anything, I know my place.
Sometimes I feel so very large. My thighs squish out too far when I sit down. There’s enough skin to smother a city, a winding road of faded stretch marks. I’m inflated into view. My hair extends for miles and gets caught up in unexpected circumstances. When I look toward my feet, they seem far from my eyes. Parts of me are unreachable. I wiggle my toes to fake a connection, a deceptive sense of control.