Its rarely i pierce through the grey tinted glass of my own world that veils me, as it veils us all, and take a breathe of raw reality.
I find the slight suffocation of personal reclusion, in our own bubbles to be warm and distracting.
the lack of oxygen like a lack of bitter perspective, eclipsing that feeling of a bottomless pit in the core of your being, and a cosy distraction from the cold vastness we perside in.
It's that grey tint that blocks out the sun and fire.
You're neither filled with happiness, nor are you burnt by scorching flames.
To catch a glimpse of reality itself you must carefully focus on your breathe.
Realise where you are presently as you feel the now slip into the past, recurring over and over and over, second by second, you revert back,
and for a fraction of a moment, you see everything in that chilling light
and your overwhelmed by how unexciting infinite space and disbeliveing of what it has landed you with.
and so you retreat back to your warm bulbble
where you are the centre of your own little grey universe.