This is the beginning of a story.
I'm Elliott, and I am thirty-seven. Herrughh. That's what it sounds like when I sit down and get back up. I look younger but feel older. You can picture the rest.
Something happens to me August 2nd at 1:27 AM.
So early into a new day that not even the earliest birds have brushed their teeth yet. It seems to me the summer nights have gotten darker the further the year goes on and it all lazily bleeds into the next morning, which is where I sit, trying to come to grips with what is happening. I think it is something.
A thought passes by and waves at me.
"This darkness has nothing to do with the night."
I watch it go on its way. I miss it already, only because it is gone.
Something. Something happens, and it cracks my heart open.
Picture that. Not with blood or explosions, but with a slow grace and a sly deepness that sneaks. There is no gore. A part of it feels necessary even if I don't know why. This slow grace holds a bitter truth and forces me right out of my body, leaving me hovering as if a cloud with tip toes is unsuccessfully balancing on a tight rope over its own raindrops trying not to wake its dewy neighbors. I am stranded and safe all at once.
I exhale steadily to inhale rapidly. Beats are skipping just to catch up to one another.
I am now observing my Self from the outside. I am not sure I really need to say this, but I will anyway.
This is something new for me.
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