Real

I don't know. I really don't. There is this gap, you see. And I can't seem to cross it.

The feeling is crystal-clear in my heart. The feeling that comes and goes. The feeling I want. The one I hate. I can feel it flowing through me, affecting mind and body. It is there. It is real.

The feeling is crystal-clear, pure as a tear. It makes sense. I know it does. Down there, somewhere, lost in the confines of my being, it reaches out to my consciousness, a piercing shard of light. The feeling is real.

When the sun sets after a hot summer day, streaking the sky in bright hues of pink, and mauve, and deep blue.

When the rain falls, hard and wet, onto the green leaves of spring.

When the snow blankets the fields and trees, soaking up the sound of my steps, crunching underneath my feet.

When the leaves fall, turning round and round in the harsh wind. Mist rises through the trees, and the earth is wet and damp, and nothing is alive anymore.

The feeling is clear.

The feeling is real.

The feeling talks to me. It tells me where to go. It tells me who to speak to. It shows me who to be.

The feeling is real.

But I am not.