In a simple room, a man lets go of the day's pressure and stress. He finds himself wondering why each lapse of time seems to feel exactly the same once it's completed. Why does the World seem to put itself on repeat day in and day out? With so many questions, the room becomes more complex. Each breath he takes seems to become more challenging. The wallpaper (a quite beautiful shade of indigo) becomes trite and foreign, while the carpet looks like an Egyptian cloth draped over a mummified corpse. This was discouraging, so he walked outside into the soft moonlight.
There, he was confronted by a nosey neighbor who could clearly notice that our main character was bothered.
"Sir, your face does look certainly peculiar in the night sky. Is everything okay?" the neighbor questioned. With nothing to respond, the man picked a meaningless star in that great solar system and gazed for what seemed like an eternity.
"I wonder if there is a version of myself staring back on that distant World," he muttered aloud. As he turned, the neighbor was gone. He was actually quite relieved to be alone again after a day of relentless humans hounding him and asking him questions he didn't care for. And so, he walked along the street for a while.
Time hurried by as it always seems to do, but it was a night to be outside and to remember how beautiful the air can be when you're alone without a purpose. He walked until he was inside an unfamiliar wood, surrounded by nature. The man found a cozy, soft spot underneath an old oak tree. He hummed foreign melodies to himself until he discovered that the forest around him had been providing a choir-esque backing vocal the whole time. It was mysteriously intimate. He stopped abruptly.
"Where did you all learn to sing like
that?" the man yelled into the wood. Just then, the giant oak he was seated under scooped him up in one swift motion with its most gigantic branch and raised him high above the treetops. Although he wasn't the most fond of heights, the oak tree had a sort of drowsy and calming affect on him.
"Do you see that faint star over there?" the tree bellowed as it pointed into the night sky with another branch.
"You mean
that star?" the man wondered as he looked at the same star he had singled out before.
"That star gave us our voices. It is the only thing we have," the oak explained. The man smiled, for he now saw his reflection in the glimmering star. His expression turned to pure awe. He began to rhyme:
"There I am, starry night!
And all the tales of doom turned bright
While I have found my place in thee
I'll always feel not lost, but free
Instead a hollow wood shown true
And left a man with much to do
I think my time has just begun
For now I'll live amongst the Sun"
The doorkeeper shakes your hand
