my body is wrapped inside a permeable membrane.

beautiful things find their way to me. they, leisurely, interact with parts of my body; at-will, on-demand.

i long for them to stay. to settle, to make a home, to transmute into an object of permanence and sit at the root of my very being; grounding my suspended body back to the earth.

i prepare myself; i clear space, more so than required, to ensure that they live comfortably. i clean, making sure that the surface feels impeccable. i now simply await; anticipation drooling down to the floor, like a child waiting to unwrap a christmas present that was diabolically hidden from him for 24 long years.

however, they simply pass through me; sometimes, instantaneously — relieving themselves of a future and donning strange names of the past — 'memories', 'experiences', 'activities' and 'people'.

my body is wrapped trapped inside a permeable membrane.