Monotonia

There is a pregnant silence just before any thought enters the mind. Blanks between the words we write on paper. Invisible instants between breathing in and breathing out, which belong to neither. It is in this suspended moment, when time is uncounted, lost, felt, foreign, that the cocoon of creation can form.

The space between things, the living air that separates us. Neither happy nor sad, we hold our breath just before diving into the ocean. Neither hot nor cold, with no contrast at all. Forgotten and ignored, it exists and repeats itself, unseen and endless.