I feel like I’ve been asleep for years.
Time to stockpile food in my room and start drinking.
Began my day with some extra dry champagne, strawberries, and a shower.
I’m okay with this.
It is one of my favorite questions, though I’m never glad when it finds me.
“Do I really love you? Or do I just want to?”
We’ve known each other for years, this question and I.
Still, I’ve not yet found an answer.
Her. Of course it would be her.
I see her name and my dreams flood back to me.
Do we ever get over our youthful affections?
Or will they patiently wait to haunt our later years?
Restless and enticing are such uncertainties.
Some days, I get out of bed and let the memories of dreams fade. If I wait too long, all they seem to leave me with is a vague feeling of having forgotten something that was once important to me. Who knows what I might’ve forgotten?
Silence like a hole, a void. Hollow, but not completely empty. Like a concert hall still ever-so-silently echoing the last few chords. The very last moment of a memory, a sensation, a feeling. Fleeting, fading, escaping, but still there - almost intangible.
There are demons in this place - and angels. Passions of all variety have danced in this hall. And may yet still. All of these angels and demons and ghosts and passions, they echo. Each and every one with my eyes, my heart, my soul. Like a just-forgotten dream, they shimmer and drift away.
This place - my mind- is a land of many mirages. In sleep, in meditation, and in quiet contemplation do I wander its paths of shifting sands and cloudy skies. Always alone, like the last bit of light to be swallowed up by the night.