this pure, bright delight, this electric pulse in my hands when the clay spins just right, it hits me with this weird jolt of panic. it's like my bones remember all the times something felt good and then shifted, left me feeling untethered again, like the ground itself was moving, and this settling in my body, this peace, feels almost like a temporary costume. i taste the kombucha and it's fizzy and alive and that too feels like a fleeting moment of perfect alignment, a kind of sweetness that makes my throat tighten, wondering when it will turn sour