Still.

Time flows through me as nothing, as though I were nothing but dust and mottled light. The faint whirr of tires, footsteps overhead, ticking and clanking of the furnace as it turns on. The rest of my world is quiet and unobstructed by any distractions beyond those constantly chugging away in my brain. The more I deprive myself of sensory stimulation, the more I clamor and yearn for even less of it. More darkness. More silence. More blankets to bury myself under till the transparency lends itself to a puddle of empty cells. Time rolls over me like waves of warm water, repellent on my skin, rolling across it with a thin, delicate, microscopic barrier, never quite touching me, only rolling and beading. The small instances of laughter, one drop. The small experiences of hope, another drop. The infinite feeling of being nowhere, a tidal wave. Only longing to sleep... to curl up like a roly-poly bug and shut everything away. Wake again, and time brushes past me, tousling my hair against my ear. Still. And all the while you are there, watching, wading in my shadows. Busying yourself with figures and words. Peeking at me. Peering. Glancing behind my curtain. Spying. And I know these things about you. I know you are there. Time buckles me down, weighs on me, pulls at me. And you are there in my darkness, waiting. Time presses on me, on my cheek. On my thigh. Even on my elbows. All I can think about is drowning in this solitude, if only I could smell you one last time...