I remember once,
the astounding sensation that my body was completely made to allow my soul joy.

Everything, designed, to make this self, whatever it is really (electricity? neurons? a painting somewhere in a museum? a slave? a color that hasn't been invented yet? a collection of memories? a history?) experience.

A machine, brilliantly engineered. So this God, has made this incredibly strong, complicated machine. That grows and moves and feels.

Strong enough to be broken, yet unknowingly fix itself. To be soft enough to experience pleasure, the lightness of touch. A mind which can make words on a page ideas and dreams and action.

Every sense, every thing that was made, designed to be breathed in and experienced.

Every sense, every flutter of heart or eyelash.

And when this soul feels so much, it literally produces a physical result. Hearts stopping at the end of the same 89 years, if they have been wound together by this whole life. Tears of joy or anger or sadness.

Please excuse me watching the slight side smile at the corner of your mouth, while you sip your tea. I find it wonderful, that this flavor is your favorite. That you can have a favorite.

That you have been given the simplest of choices, and find joy here. I can't help but wonder what you really look like.

(a painting somewhere? a color that hasn't been invented yet?)