Calm

My mind has always been a school of fish, roaming the rivers in many directions. There is unity in the grand formation, but also chaos as each thought brushes up against its neighbour, creating a ripple effect.

But in certain moments, everything becomes still. I am floating in the deep sea, and looking up at the light penetrating through the waters. There is no sound or oceanic distraction; the creatures move in silence around me, distant and observant. I drift somewhere in the space between the bank and the surface, suspended in time, frozen in amber.

I picture sailors hearing the sirens’ calls from their boats, the pull of belonging so strong that it compelled them overboard into the depths below, and I think I understand them. The same indefinitive feeling often pulls at me from time to time until I almost enter a lucid dream, wanting not to wake up and think of insignificant things that pale in comparison to this single moment.