It starts slowly.
Like a knife breaking the skin of a plum.
And just moments ago, and even now, as the edge of your pillow holds the top of your neck like a baseball in the web of a brown leather glove, you slip feet first into that temporary peaceful patch of blackness which holds you at the ribs. With it's palms on your chest.
Dragging you through the air to the top of the clouds.
And on the edge of this cloud you sit with someone who loves you.
You watch the wind blowing the top of the ocean towards the beach, as the water reaches for the edge of the sand like it would a lover, moving like as if meeting the coast would save its life.
Like it was coming into a wake and falling asleep all at once.
And then the best thing in the world happens.
You don't see anything at all.
Nothing.
Except for a white marble floor that stretches for a billion miles in every direction, and the same thing beginning 200 feet above you.
And you think to yourself about how there is even a sharp piece of beauty that the world can find a way to stick into your bare stomach in a place that is completely empty.
And the whole time the person you are with never stops sitting with you.
Before you see things like this, it is so hard to understand the type of person you ever  were before, how you could live without accepting such a notion or some specific understanding on a consistent basis.  
And then you stop thinking about that because you remember that someone who loves you is sitting right beside you, and you turn to look at them as they stare off into the distance.
And you live the rest of your life seeing things in color.