She moves with a flowing motion. When I first saw her it was as she folded herself into the wall beside me. Her voice left her mouth reluctantly, edging its way into the air, and I was suddenly conscious of what it was I was sitting beside.

She moves with a flowing motion. She moves in curves. Parts of her seem to wander off before reconsidering and rejoining the main. She is blurred at the edges, part of the world through which she moves. Or perhaps she is completely discrete from it, slicing through reality to let it rejoin behind her, cutting through space and time with ease.

I look at her and weep inside. My movements are those of one awkward in this world. I move with jerky motions, reality will not yield before me. I am defined; contained within a precise outline from which I cannot escape. I can never be as her. She is of the beyond.