While listening to Clair de Lune — Debussy 1:40 a.m. The 26th of December was unlike any other day. It shook me from within. My soul felt wrecked; my body trembled; my mind fractured into pieces I could not immediately gather. Flames, smoke, and a panic-stricken voice closed in on me, swallowing all sense of time. There was only numbness. As seconds passed, a single thought surfaced with terrifying clarity: this could be the end. The past decade, however, has taught me something invaluable—composure in moments of high risk. Somewhere beneath the fear, that discipline surfaced. I stepped out, pulling myself back from the edge of a black hole I did not yet understand. Only later did I realize the magnitude of what had just occurred. As time passed, my mind turned against itself. Questions began to provoke my thoughts relentlessly. What if I had been electrocuted? What if I had reacted a few seconds later—would I have survived? What if I had not been at home? What if no ...
Words are the gravity, they may be the piece of art or they may be the cuts of knife.