And maybe sometimes you get tired of begging for a car crash, or a kidnapping gone wrong or being held up at the bank. And the thought of your plane tumbling to the ground or your bus cartwheeling off a hill and the world turning the deepest shade of dark starts to look like a reward, rather than an emergency exit. And your veins pump red and your brain beats pink and the ever-getting-thinner blue in your eyes looks elsewhere and what you’re left with is white. And white seems as inviting as cake frosting or wedding dresses or blank cardboard or empty rooms; Doctor’s coats and company cars and still-not-written letters and headlights and piano keys and theatre masks and horizons and suns and stars. And for a moment you are all these things and you are neither and you are moving and standing still and you are staring and looking away and grabbing and letting go and grabbing and letting go and grabbing and letting go.
And you’re OK.