phasor
"Maybe you're trying too hard."
Your head is spinning, a radar that emits a little beep every time it passes her nose. Sometimes focus is hard to achieve. Even breathing seems difficult these days.
"It's elegant... elegant... but it's all falling - "
"Does that matter? Now." Something in her inflection twists you ninety degrees. Your head spins vertically now. Two beeps, one for the nose and one for her chin, like an echo trace. Contagious rhythm, your head lolls forward. It's time to live in the gyroscope, at least until the string runs down.
