Bookmark #117

Sometimes, I’d sit, unable to move my body or even my hands. I swear, I couldn’t move an inch even if I wanted to, not that I wanted to. I’d sit, staring blindly into the abyss trying to grasp how infinitely large everything was, and how small I was, by comparison. It wasn’t that I didn’t matter for I knew did; at least, to myself. I’d lose all sense of reality at the thought of it all, though. I’d look at the infinity and the expanse of it all from a distance. I’d sit there thinking, at first. Then, the thoughts would cease, or maybe my noticing and taking them too seriously would stop. I’d sit there, looking at the sky.

I would think of wishing the clouds away or changing the colour of the sky to purple or even orange, and sometimes, it happened. Still, I could never know if it was my wishing of it that did that or if it was the whims and fancies of the universe. If I couldn’t say for sure, then why bother, I’d think to myself. The best I could do was snap out of it, and move a muscle. It always came down to moving a muscle at the end of the day. That was the only thing that mattered. That was the only thing I could control; myself.