This Strange Sensation

This Strange Sensation

And though my lips remain static, I can feel it happen. A new wave has entered my stream of consciousness. Not entirely unfamiliar, but nestled somewhere in the cavernous aisles of my archival recesses. Drowned out by the forces that be, caught somewhere neither here nor there. A distant cry locked soundly into the utility room on Level B2. But now I'm running errands.

Oh to be part of something genuine in this world of stages. A world of possession and dispossession. In this loop of action and inaction, action and re-action. That's a wrap. And on we move. A call for recess, a break from the spectacle.

When I'm down here, I feel different, though it's but a blip on the radar. It's in the smallest acts of kindness. It's in the lines not spoken. A glance of recognition. A moment of mutually-assured stillness. I'm caught in the fray of this fleeting notion. I've been known to look the other way.

But just for a fraction of a second I can see myself with different eyes. Temporarily, I break from my stupor. Just in this moment, I can accept myself as someone who has things to share. In one single breath, I have stories to tell. No words suffice. Within the duration of this one exhalation, I know I can be more. In this blip, what had been imparted falls by the wayside, gets stuffed into the very same storage. The guards change, all verticality vanishes. Only now, I listen.

It may have passed me by. But it didn't pass without notice. Ever so often, I seem to catch an elusive glimpse. And I feel displaced, but I don't mind. Just in this blip, I let it carry me wherever its whims seek me to be. In action and inaction. Entranced by its comforts, fully immersed.

The second after always is sobering. I still inhabit this skin I have crafted for myself. I am but a product of my circumstances. I mingle with the silhouettes that surround me. I settle with the fog I've known for so long. Daunting sunrays linger beyond the plateaus. Unknown is their intention.

I err, I tell myself. But being willing to err is to accept the possibility. To err is our birthright. Sometimes we choose to err.