We are here now.

0.01: Reverie

The people around me make me feel less human everyday.

Their voices are a constant ramming against my skin, slowly fading my senses away, cell by cell. All at once, the colors disappear. Once again, I am alone in my room. Suddenly, the posters on my wall, the thousand sticky notes in vibrant yellow and pink, the pictures of smiles, and everything that makes my life, do not exist anymore. I see white on my walls, eyes wandering about a single spot. Blank.

The wind from the ceiling fan is too harsh. It is the onset of summer for the rest of the world. But the air in my room is cold. My hands clasped together in a complex knot feel lifeless and dead. Right now, the blood in my veins doesn't matter anymore. My lungs habitually sucking in air, my heart pumping life into the rest of my body; they fall behind. Nothing in the universe can repair the emptiness.

So I deliberately call upon a reverie. One woven with the dearest of my dreams.

And then, I see a streak of gold across a pitch-black canvas. 

I see the endless fabric that learned geniuses call 'space and time'.

I see an explosion of colours, the whole spectrum, resonant with the one in my heart.

I see the ultraviolet and the infrared, clear and distinct as the VIBGYOR.

I see matter forming through majestic strings of fission and fusion.

Supernovae, galaxies forming, planets forming: the one where I belong, the one where life belongs. The one where people can dream.

In this moment of euphoric proclamation, my dreams take the form of reality. I live here, I belong in this small room. I exist in the pleasant faces on these walls, in the words scribbled on the tiny pieces of paper, in the infinite notes of my favorite R&B music. I belong in my warm bed and in my own skin and veins, pulsating with warm blood. I am alive here: in my little reverie.