There had always been two worlds for him. Or rather two halves forming a whole. For as long as he could remember there had been like two layers of reality. Recently he had come to understand that everybody else seemed to see only one of the halves, only one of the layers, the layer he referred to in his mind as the solid layer, the layer you could actually touch.
The boy looked at the other kids in class and asked himself what their world was like, one without the thinking layer, his name for the other layer. Did they know their life was dull? What if they didn't have a soul? If they didn't have the thinking layer, perhaps they weren't really real. He wondered when they had lost their layer. A horrible thought came to his mind: what if he would lose his thinking layer one day? Or did they never have a layer? Then he would probably keep his. How could they say he didn't live in reality? He saw more than they ever would.
He had never been able to describe the world as he saw it for anyone else. Other kids said he was a weirdo. Grownups seemed to get worried; or sometimes thrilled, but he lost them along the line. Nowadays he only referred to things in the solid layer when he talked to others. It was easier and kept everybody else content. Everybody, but him. He continued to see what nobody else could see.
Photo by Ronny Ilvemo