Possibly...

There really are no lines
When spaces and things
Are just
Scrunched up atoms
That make up my couch
The hard wooden floor
 - well, it's not real wood, but, whatever -
The air full of them
Farther apart
and unseen
And everything breaks down to the same basic parts
That can combine
To look so very different

But of course there is my perception
Crafted by these very pieces
The same particles
Like in dust
and bedsheets
and lemons?

And then there is my existence
My being
A soul?
Just a little something extra.