Tsunami Beginnings

Days like this can't seem to get any more... different. It's the strangest feeling, knowing that you're breathing and they're breathing and everyone's breathing but at the same time no one is. That white haze that drops and settles  in from wherever it was before, most likely hovering just below the atmosphere in perfect aerial-striking position. Detachment and retreat into the mind are two main characteristics of the fog, rolling in over the sleeping harbor while gulls rustle and turn over in their nests. It's amazing how similar the mind is to the sea. Hard and glassy on the surface with barely a ripple; no naked eye could even begin to look below to the mysteries teeming underneath. Until a wind starts to pick up, that is - snaking its tendrils to lap at the surface and causing waves to roil and disrupt the previous peace; people coming in on their tiny lifeboats and bonding with the water, or cutting through in massive gaudy yachts and polluting the blue with black shiny oil that burns. My mind is hard and glassy now. I feel the blankness of it myself, and even I can't penetrate it. It's a disturbing feeling, not being able to connect.