Staring Away

Here I sit, neither sad nor happy, neither cold nor warm. I just am. I simply exist. Nothing stirs within me save the tea going down my throat at regular intervals. All is silent. And finally, I don't really have to think. For once, I can just feel. Everything has ceased to matter and I sit here, I just sit here...I don't need to fill the time or the silence or the emptiness.

I like it just the way it is. Which is precisely what makes it so much more beautiful. Even as I type, I am staring away...out the window, toward the door, above the screen, anywhere but where the words formed by my fingers appear. The tapping of my fingers has picked up a distinctive, quiet rhythm unlike any song or beat.

The tapping blends with the hum of the fridge and the gentle whispering of a heater blowing air in the background. In reality, it is not all that silent. In reality, there are definite sensations that fill the room. But in my actuality, everything flows smoothly on--the river of time does not pause for any man, the grains of sand are not suspended in any hourglass as a favor.

Everything is slowly moving forward, and even sitting here, doing nothing, I feel as though I am going with it all. I do not feel held back by my inaction, nor decapitated by my fatigue. I feel almost at piece. It will all end soon, as soon as I finish typing, as soon as I allow the hectic nature of life to carry me forward again...but for now, for these few minutes I spent floating in nothingness, I was content.