We turn the volume down on the world when we look at it through a closed window. Seeing the wind blow the trees but with no impact. Watching a car go by with only an echo of the sound it makes. I sit up late at night, open my window and see the world animate before me. The silent street hums with the sound of rustling trees, a faint and undetermined buzzing rings. In the distance I can hear shouts from some hard to pin down location. A man walks through the street, a minor character on his way to a different story. A car drives by, the headlights shine lighting previously hidden front gardens and bouncing off street signs, twisting how the shadows dance. A few homes are illuminated on the inside, others are not. Each one contains a world, they have the world on mute as I do. What a strange power we have, to be able to pause the world, lock our doors and close our curtains, turning it off till we feel the need to return. Each house I can see from my window has a back garden that I have never seen, the chances are I won’t. Each door bursts at the seams with a story to tell, each garden holds memories painted onto its walls. A fox walks through the street stopping in the middle of the road, no one else is here but the fox and me looking on. A simple scene of sentimentality plays out, this moment is mine. The fox runs away startled by some noise I can’t perceive, we shared a moment he wasn’t aware of and that I don’t yet understand the meaning of but it all falls into place. Like patterns on a tapestry I feel more and more that my moments are connecting, that with each day the muted sensation that I dared to carry with me when I left the world on pause for so long is fading. I feel the cold of the windows glass, the breeze of the cold air on my skin, my feet against the window ledge I’m propped up on. It all feels real now, I’m becoming aware of how aware I’ve become. I feel I am finding myself present in life for the first time, my actions are felt while I act them. I breath in and enjoy the exhale. This is me at 3.36am, Tuesday 29th May, 2018. I hope I don’t forget you when I return again in the morning.

I scan between the good words and the bad
I do the same with people,
My eyes frantic and my mind confused
I'm getting dizzy and losing my balance.
I'm losing all hope with it, too.
Why is it so complicated?
There is no consistency,
No rhyme or reason.
Just exist or not exist and whatever lies between.