As I sit alone, perfectly in the center of my soft purple bed, resting my head on a pillow, staring at the ceiling of my quietly dark room, my mind can’t help but mirror the feeling. For the first time in days, there are no noises. I am not creating any, and the world has nothing to fight back at. Hence, there are no ripples. I am just noticing how silent it is. 

Although a blank, this space does not feel unsettling to me. This isn’t my first visit… It’s actually peaceful. Strangely, I do realize how lonely it all can be. How it’s just me listening to these thoughts day in and day out, talking back to myself, commenting about stuff to myself, liking and disliking everything all by myself, inside my tiny little head. Planning, feeling, thinking, being. There’s nobody here to perform for. It’s a dark theatre. The chairs are empty, and the tickets to this show never existed?

Overwhelmingly, I string from one thought to another, all to reach the conclusion that after all, it may just be me who exists. And if not even that, it could be just my mind. No body. However oddly interesting this thesis sounds, it is also awfully lonely. Nobody knows that sometimes, I am looking for an audience in those seats, clapping from afar.