Our own reality

And where it dwells

I’m sitting on the couch, and right now I feel as though this room is the only place that exists in the whole universe, something like when you’re playing video games and you try to wander away from the main scenario and all you find is nothingness extended like a carpet on the ether.

There are birds chirping outside, and the sun comes in like a zebra through the window and the blinds. It touches the center table and the floor so smoothly that you would think you could reach out and grab the light like you do with a cat. Inside my head, violins play gracious songs; they’re purposely matching every single move you make, like life is a movie and the maestro that lives inside my head is trying to get recognition for his work.

The sense of stillness quiets my heart and keeps it warm, it makes me realize that although life goes by in the blink of an eye, it is also constantly advancing in slow motion, just so that I can admire each and every single event that blossoms from it, every detail being presented to me with such vivid color that I can almost taste it. This constant and never ending thread, weaved by wise and holy hands, is so astonishingly beautiful that I constantly find myself dwelling on thoughts that can never be translated accurately.

You lay your eyes on me, and as I lay mine on yours, everything else dissipates into thin air. That’s the moment when I want to break the clocks and throw them away. Time will close its eyes, and this sight will be branded on my soul like golden letters on a chapel bell. Such bell shall be tolled by me forevermore.

Let me hold you, and we’ll be in our own reality, one that belongs to us, and us only. The air that we breathe will be pure and new, and so will be our exchange of glances, our holding of hands and our kisses. We will float in the void together, and our presence will make sublimity out of vacuity. Just let me hold you.

Everything you are, your beauty, your spirit and even your imperfections, it all strikes me in such a way that — taking advantage of the freedom granted to me by our wild God-given minds — everything that I am suddenly turns to dust. No, not in a bad way, not in a destructive way, but in a way that somehow allows me to be spread out evenly across the universe, each and every particle of me being a part of something greater, burning within the sun, echoing out of the strings of a violin, flowing down a river, resting on the petal of a sunflower, being the perfume that is so subtly laid on your even subtler and smoother skin, and there living and dying. Everything that you are, love, makes me transcend, and suddenly all the vileness that lurks in this world seems to be but a forgotten fiction tale. I am safe with you, and so are you with me.

Our own reality… It makes me dive up in the clouds and fly down to the bottom the ocean. You must know what it’s like, you’re always there with me.