Toe Story.

I think there are stories waiting to be told in the subtle twitches of the toe. They are the anxious boredom of long, green hospital corridors just as much as they are mere precursors to shifting of weight from the left foot to the right in a long queue at the cash counter. Maybe the girl standing in the school assembly is twitching them right now so her feet shall no longer be numb when the line starts to move. And who’s to say if I am busy doing it too, under the folds of my pajamas, as my fingers hover over the keyboard waiting for what I wish will be superbly enigmatic to ooze out of them.

There you go. In that little world inside your head where you build and shatter day in and day out boundaries, opinions, musings, explanations, hauntings, yearnings, elaborate agonies and trifling ecstacies (or vice versa) – in that little world where you make yourself up and others up and constantly announce how you want yourself portrayed hoping the rest of the world pays heed – in that little world, you’re probably also twitching your toes under veils you think no one would dare to strip off you because you have declared among other things that they are forbidden territory. Do you know why you are twitching your toes? Does it bother you that you don’t? Or are you just happy to have a secret?

Until later then, when the click of the knuckle bones calls to be explored.

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