she sat in that wicker chair, with a pot of tea in front of her and a mug next to it, both white. Like everything else around her, the walls of the villa, the clouds floating across the pristine blue sky, the tall lamp shade hanging from the ceiling, reaching all the way to the floor - all white. Exactly like the noise inside her - silent noise bouncing off the corners of her inner being, echoing in that emptiness - and the color, white. Deep breaths, one breath, two breaths, three, four - with five, she brings herself back in, and pushes her uneasiness out a little by little bit. the house is silent, her friends asleep in this nascent-ish time, just after dawn, the birds flit back and forth from a large tree to her right, are they bats she wonders - no too small to be bats. The dawn seemed to have awakened her and them this Bali morning, bringing them both out of stupor, they adjusting to light with enthusiasm, while she, unwilling, still unwilling to let go. Everyt...