I am riding a train. They are being boys, boisterous, knocking on windows. The rapid rap, rap, rap makes my heart beat, beat, beat at the same pace. My chest feels full of air. My ribcage feels literal. My heaving is impeccable. I panic delicately.
Everything is too loud. I’m afraid the train’s shaking will break me but today my eyes feel two-dimensional so maybe we are not always real. If I am not real, I cannot break. I almost don’t care what people would think if I lay down on the cool marble. Would our histories merge? I have abstract desires like wanting to steal people shoes to make a patchwork of their colours and use it as a dream blanket. I do not even know what a dream blanket is.
And when people walk by me, I feel their vibrations; atoms of their energy radiates, and I’m a sponge, a towel used to soak it all up, to soak up every breath the world takes. I am a soul towel.
Life sways. Gravity eludes me. I find myself dizzy with weightlessness. I rock from side to side. I almost trip. I almost fall down stairs. I am unaware of space, of objects. Nothing is tangible. I feel like I could fall through anything.
I am in a taxi. The boy in the next care turns around and looks at me. I breathe out. It fogs up the window. Even my breathing keeps them at distance.