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-So here I am, she thinks, her brows furrowed in anxiety.
Almost within the same moment the thought spilled forth, a wave of panic washed ashore with it.
-I shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't. There's so much else to do.
It's madness, to be surrounded by all the things she loves best, words and songs and songs and words, and to be overwhelmed because they just keep flowing, on and on, at a speed at which tips her off her balance, sweeps her into this rapid current that she must attempt to stay afloat, afloat...
Casting a worried glance behind her, then training her gaze ahead, she flouders, warning flags already up. She needs to up her pace, swim rapidly on, in rhythm with the waters, the unceasing flow... -Not that I'm complaining, she reminds herself again, because there is so much that she delighted in, but the speed! it aggravates her so. Why must everything move so breathlessly fast?

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