I imagine a world of monotone. Black and white in colour. Tall city buildings surround me as I sit on a grey bench in the middle. The surface of it was smooth and hard. I sat in deafening silence, not a single sound to welcome my presence in this dull world. My eyes were shut. Nonetheless, I was clearly aware of my surroundings. In mere seconds, I took place in a nostalgic view through closed eyes.

Unable to recall any memories, I paid no concern. It was peaceful. I couldn’t speak, my mouth remained shut. I may’ve spoken if I’d wanted to. But then, why would I? There were no need for any sound nor noise here. This place was one of no life but plants existed here at the very least. For a second, minute, hour, day? It didn’t matter. A single thought passed through my mind for that brief moment and what it was were water. Rain. Droplets of cold rain would fall upon this dull land. Maybe it’ll flourish even?

I stay seated, but on a grey coloured hill. The benched remained thankfully. The rain did not fall. Overgrown weeds sway side by side. My eyes open slowly and another colour was added to the imaginary world of mine. 3 shades of green, a tree appears before me. Its leaves swayed alongside the gently blowing breeze and its bark was grey, alongside a stroke of black. The colours blended nicely. A white crow perched on one of its branches and it stared intently at me.

I reached out my right hand, and a piece of blank paper, as well as a black inked pen appeared afloat in front of me. I took hold of the floating stationaries and placed them on my lap. Once again, the scenery changes. This time, a whiteboard placed against a wall. There were grey tables and grey chairs. All neatly arranged in an orderly manner, white walls and a very dim sky filled the remains of my view. I took place standing. My fingers slid on top the spotless desk. The paper and pen had been placed neatly before me. I simply looked down upon it.

A step, then two. I intend to sit on the neatly arranged chair placed in order with the table, the chairs were tucked in. The sound of one of the said chairs were untucked by me. The sound of the actions breaks the silence. For the first time after what seemed like years, a sound was made and heard as well. After I sat, I took the pen to my grasp and observed the blank piece of paper. The pen in hand was gripped tightly. I wrote with a full yet empty mind.

Dear anonymous,

What is change? A repeated paradox.

Understanding? An act that was accidently missed out in the human programming system. An act we misunderstand, a

word we blatantly say. What is it truly? Knowing, understanding. How much do we truly know and understand?

I dropped the pen and its gravitational pull ends with a ‘thud’. And with heartfelt thoughts of a suffocating theory, I reread the letter to my unknowing self.