Sometimes I lose myself to a different realm. I have to talk myself back into reality, remind myself, 'I have a purpose.' I waver continuously, pulled by different forces of silence. Is it laughter? Is it music? Is it words?...I could never figure. I feel rudimentary, unformed.
Walking on asphalt I my consciousness travels to another time. Back to when the universe was denser, the stars much closer together. Flecks in the asphalt form constellations long lost. The density of the young universe carried sound waves from galaxy to galaxy. There's music, again.
I am a rough draft.
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