Write

Spinning. Thirteen years old and with my friends in some suburban backyard, spinning. Looking up at the nightime stars and spinning. Spinning until a single star became the axis around which the universe revolved. Spinning until everything made momentary sense and then dissolved away in fits of giggles and pratfalls on the grass.

Spinning, the car catching my rear bumper and turning me in a full circle so that the city became a blur.

Spinning in the pool, three somersaults in a row is what turned the pool into the ocean filled with the giant squid and the great white shark.

Spinning and watching Natalie's eyes light up when the end of the bottle pointed toward her. Spinning as I leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

And now I lay on my bed and I can't sleep. The ceiling is a faint glow as though it captured the light of day and won't let go. I stare at the light above my head. I stare and won't stop staring. Until it spins and the walls of my age fall away and reveal my whole life.