I don’t know how to explain this but many a time —and this was when it started to happen more often, I left my body and I went into the blue.
In the blue you felt nothing, be nothing. It was just dark and quiet and you’re gone. Sometimes, you could feel yourself breathing but it was nothing, you became nothing.
And sometimes you came back and you were so shocked for being gone that long that you caught your breaths so erratically that it might cause you, and those around you (if anyone was there at all), to feel panic.
But I was calm this time. When I came back to catch my breath it wasn’t erratic, it was silent like death.
You were there and you too were silent, like death.
Your hand, moving a little bit faster, to clean, to wipe, to wash. To make everything gone, dissolve into the water, the bluest I’ve seen.
And I remember you said, “it’s going to be okay.”
It’s been quiet for a while now.
maia diaries 
The phrase “death is the cousin of sleep” comes to mind, highlighting the connection between the two states.
The phrase “death is the cousin of sleep” is a metaphorical way of expressing the idea that sleep and death share some similarities. Both are states in which consciousness is altered, and in both cases, the individual is seemingly disconnected from the world around them. This comparison has been explored in various forms throughout literature, poetry, and philosophy.
For instance, John Keats’ famous line “To cease upon the midnight with no pain” from his poem “Ode to a Nightingale” evokes this connection. Additionally, in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” the protagonist refers to death as “To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream.”
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I don’t get it…I like what I’m reading, but I kinda don’t get it.
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