Sometimes you forget that reality breathes. You ask yourself if this spectacle in front of you is a painting or a dream? The scenery is beyond an impressionistic work of art.
Like an echo of a time that you can almost touch, the reality fades into a daydream where sounds cease to exist and imagination takes control of you. The sky is not blue like your mood, but a bright red of a rageful God everytime we say he doesn’t exist.
The walk to the end of the road seems longer than it usually does, but the view in front of you constantly changes. You seem slightly lifted above the ground, with no traces of someone tracking you, as your footsteps before your rise vanish.
This is somewhere else, this is something else. This is the journey inside your consciousness.
After the last rain that falls from the sky on earth making the ground a wet mirror, reflection on your past becomes inevitable. The painful intensity of your existence weighs on your shoulder once more and you are pushed to the ground like the rain that fell before you.
Dusk settles. But it dawns on you. That you are similar to rain. Pulled up in the sky, your upliftment of spirits, like evaporation. Then crashing to the ground and calling for attention. You get it initially as petrichor does its work. Then even you become normalcy. You succumb to the earth and the coffin of the soil erases your occurrence. You enter the void. You stay there until reality forgets to breathe again.