I don’t know if you ever have days when you feel like you’re the only beating heart in the world. The last real thing in the universe. Like everything and everyone around is just a prop. Paper people, hot air actions, entirely fictional situations.

And this is not a place of sorrow or pain or grief. It may be boredom, briefly but that’s only because one is used to thinking in terms of bustle and entertainment to feel alive and meaningful. Yet, if this place is to be held and beheld for a minute, the judgement shifts, the restless thoughts settle and it’s quiet. Serene, even. Peaceful. Calm. All but restless. Everything that you’ve been told life is not. And yet this is living in a very different way. Like you are all that life is and you’re keeping the universe alive.

Yesterday, I went swimming undisturbed by sunlight or crowd. I discarded paint, fabric and words by the poolside. As I plunged in, even the indistinct noises of other swimmers faded. And with every stroke, the water moved closer to the rhythm of my breathing, the beat of my heart. Underwater looks a lot like moonlight. And this night, the universe was quiet and pulsing to just one rhythm. Mine.

When I came out an hour later, the paper world stood waiting quietly for me to dry off, to forget the rhythm of my heart and to believe that all that is paper is real again. I’ll do it. Just until the next time I fall between the pages, underwater into the only real thing. Me.


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