Becoming Air

Sometimes,
When I sit still long enough,
I start to feel like I'm not attached to my own skin.
I start to feel like a fish in a bowl,
Swaying side to side,
My skin just a husk, a container, a restraint.

But when I give into this feeling,
It's like my skin melts away,
I become air,
Colored into the sunset's aura,
Stretched through the veins of the summer's leaves,
Flying across every shadow, every glimmer.
It's like my own magic,
My special moment to escape.

Sometimes it happens and I am called back to reality,
Sometimes, I find my way back on my own.
But every time after, I smile,
Because I relearned something I already knew,
I recognized something remarkable in the ordinary,
And I find the true treasures of the day.

Insane? Sure, if you don't understand,
Drugs? Never touched them in my life,
But let me tell you this, there is nothing like becoming air.
There is nothing like it in the world.
And every moment spent in reality,
My spirit longs to be free exploring what it's already seen.