epitoneThe last few days, Catherine has felt like she is flying: she is happy all the time. And she feels like this now as she squints her eyes, peering through the branches at the blue above her, flying through the sky, over a lush landscape and towards a big city. And suddenly she is in the city, gliding above streets and people. She dives down and then swoops up again, up the side of a very tall building … yes, a skyscraper. Up and up like a bird.
Oh … she, Catherine, can do anything, absolutely anything. The whole world is hers. Everyone is beautiful. She loves them all. She wants to help everyone in need, care for them all. Life has become a daydream, a carnival of magical colours, everything so bright and clear, wherever she looks. Catherine does not know why she feels so elated, so wonderful, powerful: it does not make sense. But she does know she must savour this high while it lasts: she has secretly been longing for it for some time. She stared at herself in the mirror when she got up this morning and did not quite know who she was.
Catherine puts on her headphones now as she looks at the sky again, blue, so blue. She feels like she is going inside the music, feels it so closely she becomes it. Personal identity gone. She is a soprano’s voice. The pluck of a guitar string. She is so free. It feels like an orgasm; it is unstoppable. She is higher than she has ever been before, Catherine thinks. She knows she is flying too high, like Icarus she is too close to the sun. Her fall is inevitable, but she does not care. While she feels this good, may it last as long as it can…
