A piece of paper, pinkish, on it written some aspect of our lives. It was found deep down, under all those layers of thick skin that took us years to build, under blood cells moving through our veins. It was found beneath muscle, bone, and the breath that kept our body moving. In fact you couldn’t even see it. The paper was invisible to modern microscopes it was so small, and yet there it rested, just a small shredded piece of paper, pinkish. It was a small shred of doubt, a love letter, laying underneath these layers of human, and something about its presence told us to observe ourselves from afar. It seemed godly, an out of body experience, and finally we could see what was written on that tiny paper through our plain eyes. And whether the meaning of it’s words began to fade or become more saturated, we started to see the larger picture around us, and for the moment, it saved us.