His dark fingers rubbed the tightly-woven fabric of his garment methodically, as if to anchor his mind from forgetting reality.
I still exist.
But somehow his skin blended into the darkness until he was invisible, and the way his waeft moved with the breeze made him believe that maybe he was just a thought or a breath of wind, quickly gone.
I exist. I have enough being to still feel this fabric, at least. I still exist.
The distance between him and any other solid thing made him wonder, though. Perhaps it was the way that everything was silent but he still couldn’t hear his heartbeat. He listened for it closely but the silence only stretched on. It was alive just enough to make him wonder if he was dead, like the breeze that always drifted just under his waeft but was never strong enough to tip it.
Empty. Empty but alive. …It’s like sleeping. The silence is like sleeping. But I’m not sleeping. Can I finally hear my heartbeat?
Cool, black fingers slid under his cuff and pressed into his wrist, desperate for an answer.
If I scare myself badly enough, I’ll get to hear my pulse. Then I’ll know I exist. …Won’t I?
When he was a child, he used to lay on his stomach when he cried, looking over the edge of the waeft, and let his pearly tears streak through the darkness until they were lost in the lights below.
I haven’t cried in a long time. I haven’t felt anything in a long time. I haven’t had any light to break the darkness. Not in a long time. But I promise I exist. I swear I exist.
Black eyes search the black wind of a starless sky. Dark cloth is crumpled tightly in a black fist.
…Do you believe me…?
...And somewhere deep inside, a heart defies the doubt to sleep in silence.