My Aura Lumina

Something strange has overtaken my vision.  The way I perceive the world feels as though someone is putting up tinted glass in front of my eyes.  Like the glass from his windshield.  Glass I haven't gazed out of in over a year.  But now that it's here, I can feel it all around me.  I can't help but surrender to the dazzling escape it offers, along with a compromise of prosperity and an incentive of a few golden coins for my well being.  I get caught up in this feeling and now I'm allowing myself to be confined of this abandoned sensation.

The old vagabond with the fools' gold may have tempted my eyes, but has not led me astray.  I wake up each morning with the same state of mind I had long since forgotten I was still capable of possessing.  Each day smells the same, and the air makes my heart almost too heavy to bear while the rest of me goes incredibly faint.  The air, the air, the air, and my heart.  It's all cause and effect to me, but to avoid facing any kind of dwindling retention, my mind is set on deciphering the equations that the atmosphere supplies.

My eyes and skin and hair and lungs and extremities are in ecstasy, but the rest of my organs welcome these unfamiliar feelings like cancer, and all of my defense mechanisms stimulate, prepared to attack these emotions that have been foreign for too long.  But I breathe in, and the same oxygen that we're told is so fatal is so also reviving me.

I feel collected until I step out into the March air and it hits me and even though it all adds up to springtime, nothing is new again.  It seems I've already felt this way; I've smelled the same scent and I've walked on this earth and I've been elated with the same weather and I've cursed this wind for tangling my hair many times before.  I can't escape it now.  I'm expressing emotions that were put on hold, exhibiting feelings I cannot recall any reason for having.

And I thank the air for reminding me of these neglected fervors.  I've finally caught up to my relentless stagnation, and can see through foggy atmosphere into the newness and brightness that springtime proposes.  The air is light, and so am I.  I wait for it to fill me up.