It was one of those days when the movie of your life should have won an Academy award for best screenplay. The twists and turns knocked everyone out, the plot was as tight as high-end waterproof luggage, and the soundtrack matched how everyone felt that year with uncanny accuracy.
All you know is it’s one of those days when the music fits how you feel like a jigsaw puzzle edge-piece: tongue in groove on one side, a nice straight line on the other, like driving until you reach the ocean.
How you feel matches the cloud structure, these particular blues of sky and sea, the quality of the light coming through.
Neither the sensations of pleasure or pain, nor the meanings ascribed to them, have anything to do with your experience now.
You take a breath, quite possibly the best one yet. It’s such a relief to finally stop wondering what will happen in the next scene, to stop worrying about how the story might end.
You just sit there filling your mouth with the velvet of water, feeling the support of the ground beneath you, and let go of everything. Maybe the sun breaks through the clouds, maybe it rains. Maybe neither. It’s only weather. These days, you go on feelings. These days, you never know which thoughts you can trust.
The air stirs, moving over your skin, almost imperceptible, unforgettably sensual. The fabric of your sweat-dampened shirt clings to your chest, your back. The air is fine, warm, and soft.
You eat a little something, very slowly, and feel – for the time being – free.