It materialises out of nowhere. For me, briefly in the beat of a particular song. Like the faintest scent fluttering in the air, it reminds me of who I am beneath all the covers: the unique vibration of my soul. As silent as a whisper as innocuous as thunder it is the calling from God proclaiming that I should not conform to the wishes of those around me. For a moment, the sensation lures me away from the safe harbour of everything I convinced myself is who I should be. But there it is, the vibration written in blood. A reminder of my echo when no one is listening, especially not myself. That pure identity that has nothing to do with the mind or the body but is the purest form of an emotional, euphoric sense of belonging. Who I am beneath all the should be:s and could be:s and all the unfortunates. Like resting the arms on the shoulders of someone that doesn’t make sense but enables the escape to sensation. It is as painful as it is sweet. Viewing the lost vision of ourselves. Hidden behind all the other things we do to stay happy.