That other world

I can’t focus. I am already in ecstasy when I only touch the gently broken texture of the paper in front of me. The structures of the writing, not seeing them but feeling them. Rub them with my fingertips or with my downy dry lips and then read them aloud, gently blowing, breathing in and out. Whether they form perfect sentences or not. I don’t care. They thrill me.

I touch the words and fall into an endless sleep, a single contact and my mind pushes my flesh to a place where it shudders and trembles, where it delights, where life is allowed and explodes.

Words dissolve into sentences, sentences into paragraphs that disappear into stories. In my mind, they flow into every nerve and channel my body into another dimension. Waking up in a strange sleep. Feeling when you dare to touch. Writing is an awakening into a new world.