SPIN

I went over to the chair and spun myself around in a circle. I had done this before, and like all the other time's everything seemed to speed through. My vision began to blur as I continued to rotate. All the images before me were consumed into one continuous whirring. My breath began to increase and I put my feet on the floor to stop. This ritual of consistently spinning in my chair came about when I was five. Everyone had an interesting perspective on the world, whereas I felt mine was rather plain. I would look at the floor and think to myself: Floor. Whereas the girls and boys around me would be enamored by the various patterns that they saw in the small hints of curvature that was apparent through the wood. One girl even saw the cracks as something that she might fall through. But all I saw was the floor. On that day when I went home, I started spinning myself in a chair, and ever since then, I had partaken in this ritual every day. Persistently spinning at around 5:00pm and stopping only after a minute. If I tried going beyond that minute my head would feel as if it was stuck in that spinning world for longer than it should. The world would look as if it were spinning for hours upon hours. So at exactly one minute, I placed my feet on the floor and stopped. While I was spinning I was able to see the different fragments of the world, just like before. And it seemed that people gravitated towards that, though I would only describe blurriness people found themselves to be more intent on listening to blurry feelings as opposed to what's there. And perhaps this Is because humans are interested most in what is absent from their lives as opposed to what already might be there. Though I was in a room I observed that though I was going fast, certain aspects of the wind and the way the world turned moved rather slowly. And for me seeing those sights was a beautiful thing, and I felt that it was a feeling that could only be felt whilst I was spinning the chair. I got up from the chair and began to move around. The world was plain again and at a halt. For I wished that my surroundings could be as exciting as they were when I was spinning in the chair. I sat on my bed and lay my head down on the comforting pillow. I paid attention to the slow yet persistent way my head began to sink into the foam. Though the world was no longer spinning, a feeling of comfort began to enter me. It was as if the wind that had once been whirling around me for a minute came back to settle in my consciousness and provide me with a deeper sense of self. I breathed again softly and got up from my bed. I looked down at the floor and placed my fingers against the various crevices. A feeling began to pass through my fingers, though I was no longer spinning I felt that a piece of me had transferred from the floor to body. I smiled to myself as I recollected the memory of me as a five-year-old pointing to the floor, simply repeated the word floor as the other kids remarked on the imaginative aspects of such a peculiar subject. As I came back to reality I let the memory go and came back to where I was. Me in my peculiar position leaning against the floor. I felt frozen, I wasn't sure what to do. The floor comprised itself of everything I was afraid to see whereas in the chair I felt a flowing feeling. But hear I was stuck, with my feet hinged to the floor, swirling with the memories that I had tried hard to push back. Because regardless of where I was chair or floor it was the floor that was my true connection to this place. It always had been. And I suppose that is what kept my feet hinged there. Vocals began to spew through my throat as an almost natural whisper began to come through. My eyes all backed and i opened y mouth wide and screamed FLOOR. My heart began to beat faster. I found my feet unhinge. I jumped up and down as I continued to shout over and over again: "FLOOR!" "FLOOR!" my laughter became thick. I opened the door and ran out. Everybody's noses were turned up to the sky as if they were intelligently searching for something, some hidden meaning through the sky. But the meaning I was searching for and the meaning they were searching for was right there already it was on the floor. I stomped my foot on the floor and watch as waves flowed from my feet. I screamed floor again, nobody paid attention. But that didn't matter. No one had ever paid attention anyways, but at least I knew that my five-year-old self was seeing something in the deep intricacies of what held us to this down below. The floor, which held so many special properties that we hadn't noticed before. I smiled to myself and raised my hands to the sky and though I acknowledged the twirls, my feet stayed on the ground. I found myself peaceful and content, my mind almost got sucked into the minds of those with their noses up. As I watched them tilting their heads towards the sky, sniffing only what was among them as opposed to what was around them. And I guess In some ways I do the same, but I try not to as much as I can. I kneeled down back onto the floor, my feet still unhinged, though part of me wished they would stay. So the world could see that the floor, though plain was not so bad and perhaps if we had all tried to recognize it as is then we would find that the unique perspective that we are searching for is what we already see.