The Secret of You

I often sit and wonder.

I imagine, and I ponder what it feels like to be you. To walk the way you walk. To think your thoughts. What does it taste like to be you?

When you dream, are those dreams pure? I wonder who you are. I get the feeling that you're the only one who knows.

Maybe, if there is a God, then She knows too. But the story of you is still a secret. It's your secret.

I find myself dwelling on the meaning of that thought. There is something beautiful about being the only keeper of your own inner world. Your private existence. The place no one else can fully enter.

My thoughts and feelings, my dreams and fears, my anguish and my love... they're for the streets, as they say. They spill out into conversations, music, relationships, and the things I make.

Yours, though... yours belong only to you.

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And so I wonder.

What is that like?

What does it feel like to exist inside a consciousness that no one else will ever truly know?

What is it to be in that state of matter?