It starts with a heart beat, skipping the usual rythm. Then it becomes a fountain of warmth. Then it produces its own music.
Then I open my eyes and the true world, the capsule of my reality, broke out and filled my vision with light.
Boy, what a headache.
The day went by. Not fast, not slow, just whatever, just because it had to. Nothing happened. Nothing that could be written down in a diary or could become an anecdote worth telling to my friends over coffee or beer. Just another swirl of color and sound to add in the pool of my subconscious.
Then night again. Then my little something, my inch of will, the second of freedom that I hope for: it starts with a heart beat , skipping the usual rythm. Then it becomes a fountain of warmth. Then it produces its own music. In this music I live, this music I do remember, these images I do retain.
Then I wake, and the day becomes a sigh. And again I wait.
