There are those moments, days even,
when everything outside my skin feels foreign.
The splintering shift that happened to me didn’t touch anything else.
The grass is still the same green, the coffee maker drips obliviously,
the plastic smiles on public faces continue perpetually.
I cannot feel the warmth of the late afternoon sun as it kisses my hands,
wraps around my wrists.
The movement back towards the plane that everything else exists on will be slow.
Imperceptibly slow.
Continuing tediously. Constantly reminding me of my isolation.
Until, instantly, I forget that there was ever a separation,
and life goes on.
