Every day I make notes of the little instances that confirm my existence, lest I vanish like a puff of smoke into thin air never to be seen again. Sometimes I worry that if I close my eyes I might disappear into my dreams completely. Can I go there, for life is not real anyway? I live in the grip of my own irresolvable solitude, watching everything go by from the sidelines; always observing but never participating. I see clouds unfurling in billowing plumes and the river dancing to an inaudible tune. La da di da da. I watch birds dart through branches, purposeful and sprightly, indifferent to the human world; intent only on being what they are. Am I the same as they? I feel the air around me shift as I move through it. Whoosh, whoosh. I sense hundreds of pairs of feet beating the pavement, making all the atoms of the universe quiver in suspense of what happens next. This is all. This is all I have. I can’t contemplate more; the future. It doesn’t exist. All I know is right now. That this air is mine to breathe. These words are mine to write. Here they are. This time is mine to pass. This pain is mine to endure and this day is mine to live. And sure enough, right now, I have noted that I do exist.
In this moment I exist.