She hid worlds inside. Small surplus villages that buzzed with life and they called her their home. Gaea, and as she moved, she took them with her. If only she knew the way she overflowed with life, and how each intricate part linked to the other. Yet the worlds existed whether she took the time to see them or not, with their own stories and lives. Sometimes they were woven into her dreams, histories that surpassed her own, places that she had never been but the world’s shared with her everything. They contacted her daily, in thoughts and soft messages that played down her spine, she misinterpreted. It was a part of her that she didn’t understand, as though her body was a vessel and she lived only in the smallest room at the front, never venturing below the deck. The color came when she closed her eyes and when she let the messages spin like a web before sleep or in deep meditation. She embraced it without understanding the duplicities, without truly knowing that she was not alone. When she shook with tears and let the crunch of life dispel her, the world’s held meetings to come up with a plan. The foundation cracked, and their destinies hinged on the land. She was on the cusp, in a dream looking into the faces of her many selves, and remembering her vast core. It would take time.