I recall what I couldn't see, hear and feel

I cover my ears as the sounds surround me. They were words, sentences and borne of the language I spoke throughout my entire life; but it was terrifying. 

"Thanks"

"You're welcome"

"I'm sorry"

"Don't worry"

"I'll be back"

"Wait"

"Forgive me"

"How could you? I ..."

"What happened was..."

"Don't"

"Will you help me?"

"Consider it done"

"Indeed,"

"Save us"

Many more of these voices envelop me and they formed a chorus. Continuously haunting my mind; it was as if they couldn't stop their singing. I pictured in a room; it was a very plain one, with blank walls the colours were non-existent. Basically, I couldn't remember them. The room had a single wooden desk accompanied with a wooden chair as well. Above me was the sky and it was vast and never-ending. With strokes of deep blue and tinges of purple; a truly fantasy like sky. 

I stood on the cool metal flooring that was already present with no signs of imperfections. It was clean, shiny and cold. I could even see my reflection on the said floor. It was rather strange at first as the feeling of standing in your own feet was there, it soon vanished however after a brief moment of time. It was truly ironic as 'time' held a different concept from where I was at the moment.

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The loss of logical thoughts was resulted. I was thinking; yet wasn't. The feeling was indescribable as my mind was strangely heavy yet comfortable. The vibrations of the strings from a certain instrument could be heard. It was sharp, clear and all so pleasant. Holding much of my attention it continued playing.

Now, as there was no orchestra nor choir that was present or visibly in sight. Only I remained standing in the room. All the voices, instruments and all sorts of self proclaimed nonsense were heard only by me as they were in my head, obviously.

I'm sane, at least I think I am. Said person is, with the exception of this moment, am not nor will I ever be. Not if I continue existing. 

Strange contrasts clash against one another. By the time I realized, everything was forgotten. But the arrival of night was unavoidable; and the chorus continued. Its stories were positively fascinating yet they spoke of  vague grief and sadness. Day was gold in disguise as silence truly was golden. But night was in its own way, silver.

It was dreadful. 

It was pleasant.

They were my very own choir and storyteller.

What do they mean? I understood nothing in actuality.