under

There was a moment I was able to think upon things differently. To read and write.

It came naturally, and as the tendencies to use other realities interfaces took hold, I fell further and further from the beginning point. I remember now seeing the faces falling away, and even those who I come to know fall further and further away. As though the reality I live in ceases moment by moment.

I distance myself in mind, but as though I am able to shut down, my mind takes a different hold and I lose all that has come to that point. All angles forgotten. All expressions tossed. All soft voices whithered.

Sometimes, and unmistakably I walk down the street. Headed to where I am headed. But from there I lose myself, my intent, my meaning and the indifference of seconds reliving the same moment again and again belts me across the mouth.
I suffer the pangs of distant regret, but nothing returns.
So here I am, confined to the mind that is mine and I loll about, strewn across many peoples perspectives, and many peoples ideas, and many peoples realities, and forget, time after time, of my own.

A blanket covers my thoughts. It covers my ears. It is as the snow has fallen and deafened the world around me in a soft perch of halted frost. I sit in the dull gray vast white abyss and nothing is there but a reflection in each flake falling of the moments already gone by.
I daydream of walking through, back into a clear sound around me.

It is green.

It smells of pine.

It moves in the wind beneath the sun.