Alive.

City lights go out, tiny flames collapsing on themselves, smoke moves it's hips to the sky, curving sweetly like a snake seducing a mouse.
The sun begins to stretch it's arms around the land, giving it's colour back, as if borrowing it every rotation to return it at dawn.
I only wish to be bound at this moment to another soul so I may share which you couldn't paint for a blind man to see, or sing about for a dead man to hear. Beauty ten thousand words couldn't describe. If I could put it away in a small jar to send you, you might be able to open it and feel like you could conquer a million days and dance away a million nights without care or resilience.
Your spirit has traveled to a physical shell made of flesh and bone to experience what it is to be alive.
Like appreciating food that much more after knowing hunger. But after living too long within this shell, you begin to feel simply like a physical being. This is not so. You are life itself.

It is not madness.

Dance, sing, love:

Absorb a sea of infinite life, give light to those who are clouded, mysterious is the darkness harbouring the secrets of the mind. Seductive is the emotion which fuels the passions of the soul.

They might tell me my ways are strange. Some say I live among the constellations of other worlds, that I deny the realities of this one.

But it is not madness. It is an effort to transcend the rigidities and the patterns made by the rational minds. By the lines on my hands, we are the guardians of the mysteries that should only be uncovered through the senses.