Finding myself alive

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Sometimes I find myself very alive. Like Ive awoken from a slumber and the colours are suddenly brighter.
Often the feeling is fleeting, always it is beautiful. Sometimes I can pinpoint why I feel this.
Other times it simply appears, like a small child grasping my pinkie finger.
It is delicate, fragile. A flower that closes at dusk; unfurling to bask in the light, and vanishing just as quickly.
I hold these moments precious, like fragments of a damaged film that I was the star of, surrounded by cast and crew, my every move followed with cameras, softly-lit, superbly edited, with a mesmerising soundtrack sparkling in my ears. I never find the same moment twice, no matter how hard I try to replicate it.
But I am very much alive, and a smile plays across my lips. And I can almost hear people whisper “What is her secret…”
And then it is gone, the thing that seems most real, a blissful awareness of that very moment, fades into my reality. And I return to my day, searching for that small child again.