There must be something about the dentist. I like to lie in the chair and stare at the ceiling. There is nothing for me to do, no problem at home or work I have to solve. I breathe. I refuse the offer of TV, even of music, and I blink slowly in the bright light, languidly, watching my eyelids descend. I realize I am seeing through the same eyes as I was on the day I was born. Everything has grown, has changed, except these eyes…
Lakshmi Bertram 