I wake up. I sit on my bed. I reach for my book and I look up the page I left my bookmark on. I read. I get up and make coffee. I drink. I wash my cup. I play a game of solitaire, beating my previous record. I yawn. I reread yesterdays news and realise that I am supposed to go water my plants, so I do. I am hungry. I make lunch. I eat from my favorite plate. I sneeze loudly,  "Bless me". I watch my afternoon show. I laugh. I walk around the house collecting my dirty laundry. I start the machine. I shover. I feel cold. I drink tea and eat my evening snack. I brush my teeth with my old, pink toothbrush. I pee. I crawl into my bed. I close my eyes. I breathe. I listen to my breath. 

I'm not alone... 

Usually when we talk about infinity, we think big. 

Bigger than earth, 

than universe

or even big. 

Bigger than big. 

More huge than huge. 

So much that you can't really realize or even begin to consider how much much fits in it. 

But infinity can be small. 

Like a baby infinity, 

born into a grown up,  infinite, world.

Just picture this one point in space. 

One tiny point.

And the infinite chances it beholds. 

Infinite means endless. 

But endless doesn't mean a lot. 

beware of small infinities 

I woke up that day. 

Before, I felt like everything was just a fantom coulisse. 

Smoke, fog and frail broderies. 

But that day it knocked me out, Everything Was Real. 

I look out the window and I know that one day I will step on the street and let myself be taken wherever the path may leed . I will meet the people I have wanted to meet and see the sky and feel the wind and laugh and cry and be like everybody.  I want to open the door. It isn't locked. Just one step. I want to. I am in control. This is my life. I can. I will. But... not today.