Dots

I closed my eyes and there is the thought - bright and wide, obscuring everything else. It's no use. It won't leave.

I practice stepping back and back again. It follows me for a while, less like a pet and more like a magnet working to pull away.

But once I've stepped away, I find it stays put, quizzical. It is quite used to being the centre of my world, and this is something different.

I walk away, backwards into uncertainty and darkness, and the thought grows smaller and smaller.

When I walk far away, it is only a dot. But that's not enough.

I look around in the darkness, small and alone. My pupils dilate, expanding for letting something else in.

And there are more dots, I see. Hundreds of them - no - millions. They're everywhere. How could I not see them before?

Bright stars in every direction, from my toes  to far beyond the spread of my arms.

All these thoughts, the synapses and neurons, the uncountable moments and fears and joys that make me who I am.