I often find myself reading in the space between words,
the infinite gaps between these sentences.
Each void telling a story of its own, a story that only I will ever read.

I often find myself dreaming in the space between sleep,
the dull hallucination of reality that is always present.
Each reverie conjuring a new life for me to explore, a life that only I will ever live.

I often find myself drowning in the space between my breaths,
the constant gasping for air to keep me lucid. Each intake fueling my ideas,
ideas that only I will ever know.

I often find myself existing in the space between my own birth and death,
this everlasting consciousness. Each moment encompassing me with sensations,
emotions that my mind forges in the explosions of each synapse that only I will ever feel.

I often find myself constructing theories in the space between laws,
the accumulation of emotions and thoughts I have experienced.
Each observation unique from the last,
perceptions only I will ever have insight too.

I now find myself reading in the space between these words,
dreaming in the space between my sleepless nights,
drowning in the space between my continuous breaths,
constantly alive in the space between my own birth and death,
constructing new theories between these laws.

I now find myself alive in the space between nothing and infinity,
this myriad of moments that congregate at this point in space that is me.
Each day eternal inside of this person,
the person that only I will ever be.