To Walk as Molten Rock

I was walking against what was less than wind but stronger than a breeze. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so, just warm enough to give the air an almost sweet sense.

As I felt the air touch my hair and wave it back, it simultaneously filtered through the fingers at my sides, entwining with them.

Right then I felt utter contentment.

I felt like melting plastic, folding and curling. I felt like molten rock, flowing from the top of the volcano, tumbling languidly down to a watery destination where there, I would solidify and become rock again.

But right then I was magma. I could have flowed through anything within my reach. There was so much in the night and I was a part of everything.

I was undeniably real then.


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