Renewal

Caleb and I have much different views of spring. I suppose they are both gut reactions, but his is much simpler... girls drive him crazy. While I do agree with Caleb to a certain extent that it is somewhat maddening when the layers start coming off, I'd rather live with the frustration. I suppose my feelings of spring are a bit strange, but... I there you go.

I've never felt more at peace with the world than on those first nights of spring when one can lie in bed, in the not quite absolute darkness, feel the warm breeze from the window and just be. I'm not sure what exactly it is, whether it's the excitement of a new season, the embrace of warmth after the harshness of winter, or perhaps just the feeling of renewal. Maybe it's just that sweet, earthy aroma of melting and dirt, or just the glow of the fireflies.

I could lay there for hours, staring up at the blank ceiling, which might as well be a suburban sky and experiencing, not thinking, not worrying, but simply enjoying what is. I doubt there are many simpler emotions than what that instills in me, and perhaps that is why it is so comforting. Perhaps it is just instinctual, perhaps I know deep somewhere that it is spring and times will be easier.

The gentle hum of the air purifier sounds in the corner, futilely struggling to sanitize that sicky-sweet breeze seeping in from the window. Soon enough I'm lost in thought again, remembering lying there, feeling the bare thighs of a girl against mine, of the slightly prickly couch cushions under my skin, the darkness and the gentle tinkling of the water from the fishtanks.

I remember a little dog running after a tennis ball and the feel of its green fuzz against my hand, covered in dirt and dog drool, wet and warm in my palm. I think about throwing it as hard as I can, feeling my tricep strain, ache for a moment and then subside.

And I think about nothing, a whole great pile of nothing that floats up and washes everything into a happy oblivion until it's just me, the darkness and a strange feeling that leaves me with a little grin on my face.

I've heard a lot about out of body experiences, and while I can't claim to understand them, I believe that on those nights I get the closest I ever have to one. It's something just out of reach, an intangible thing where I feel lightheaded and detached, but oh so content and warm. It's as if I'm not lying there against the flannel sheet, but hovering just above my own flesh, damp with perspiration. I feel different somehow, connected to myself only partially, but not disconnected, because I am part of something else, something greater.

I hear the tink out it's familiar tune... one, two... three and I feel at ease with everything. I would be perfectly content with just melting away.