Remedy

"And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death."
Pink Floyd

~

Time flows along these lines as they progressively grow sickened by my words. Time glides through the stream of your heartbeats, dodging its micro-seismic echoes and their heavenly cosmic beat. And time drowns beneath the line pulling down with it all the colors of the sunset. And as time fades into the calm and quiet watery waves of the mind, I lose sight of the infinite scene.

Time is buried along with all these colorful thoughts and yet there you are. There you are, the dream-girl who separates sky and sea, day and night, heart from body and mind from reality. And there they are, the edges outside which everything is blurred, the eyes that silence the world. And there it is, the smile that redefines both my heart and horizon, and every single word in between.

I, both fortunately and unfortunately, do not believe in time. But that doesn't matter because, either way, these misarranged words are mere ashes of an aching mind decorated with the metaphorical dust of a fraudulent self-destructive attempt at a heart. And it doesn't matter because this wind around me does not know the difference between the ash that once faked meaning in a blazing heart and the dust that disfigured pain, killed it, made a statue of it and then built a maze of walls around the statue only to realize that it was all in vain because metaphors bear no remedy for the heart.

So pretend. Pretend that you're walking in the slowest motion while all that's around you is restlessly running in the opposite direction. Pretend that your mind is hovering, exploring minds and structures, systems and thoughts, the origin beneath and beyond, and the almost indiscernible idea that seems to make all the difference. Pretend that your heartbeats are floating like bubbles, rushing toward that bed-ridden sunset that never really happened because it knows that the horizon is more empty than the phantom concept of society and even more so compared to this vacant chest of disappearing ink which believes in neither concepts nor horizons. Pretend all you want, really. Meanwhile, I'll pretend that you're only running for cover, that your mind is in fight mode because it's undecided on whether your heart is in that flight mode with underdeveloped legs, or in this one, with dormant wings.

Through and through, I've always walked alone. Surely, I've met individuals that were beyond grace and wonder, though they sadly couldn't see it. Yet though we walked side by side in the blessed moments at which our roads converged, I somehow always walked alone, and deep inside, they did too. But, there were other moments where I looked behind my shoulder with that slight turn of the head, and you were always there, the heavenly jewel that keeps the volcano from erupting. Through and through, I've always walked alone, but you were there too.

In any case, the music plays on. The melody fades inward into me, and outward into another tune as the rhythm within fluctuates in a manner mystically proportional to the two oscillating heartstrings I have left...

But regardless, whether your aspired home is on the mountains of power or in the stars of love, whether you seek strength and value to hide your insecurities or a make-believe romantic fairytale to feel worthy of love, whether you fall off the edge of your pride or burn out and think yourself into a state of stardust, whether all you do is reducible to the love of power or divisible into a series of hopeless shots in a dark sky that's always missing the power of love, whether you know that your heart and mind are withering and the people you love are dying in their own special ways or whether you drown those dreadful waves in numerous kinds of addictions, time is running out. Time is running out.

Time flows along my words as they progressively grow sickened by these lines. The main upside is that words and times are changing which probably means that my worn-out roadmap of being and becoming has redrawn its lines.

It's time to go.

Come what may.

~

"The time is gone, the song is over, thought I had something more to say."

Pink Floyd



Dream

"So go on, Love, find a new direction."

Mayday Parade

                             ~

I keep having this recurrent impression that all this is a collection of interwoven dreams. And it seems to me that every person I know really has no idea what's going on; they don't fully understand the story beneath the dream. Meanwhile, I sit here watching them, surrounded by mirror-like holograms, gateways through which I convince myself that I understand their dreams. Now, knowing that we're all the same in some sense, I wonder what kind of dream I'm living in, and what kind of life I dream of. I do, however, know that if I live enough to become really old, I'll have plenty of stories to tell about all these mirrors around me, and like most or perhaps all people, I will try to subtly mention how I played a nice small role in the lives of the people I loved; or maybe I'll keep that part to myself to be able to sleep at night.

Perhaps the motive behind these words is to tell myself that I'm a mirror too, that I'm not invisible and insignificant, that I'm neither broken glass nor darkened dust breathing through the projections.

Either way, for now, I sit and watch, stuck between the void and the light, hoping that the heroes around me will rise above their struggles, and that those I no longer have the chance to see find love and faith and, one day, themselves.

All these wishes upon a dream, they vanish in the blankness of my thoughts, slightly beyond the numbness of my nerves. They dissolve at the edge of the mirrors before they reach my personal space - the one I refer to as a castle when I want to compensate for my lack of confidence and as a fortress when I want to hide my trust issues.

All these wishes upon a dream and, still, last night, she asked me to make a wish. And she had no idea what I wished for but for some reason it made her smile that I breathed death into the candle, probably because she sees life in the little things.

All in all, it was a beautiful day with wonderful people. If there were a detached narrator, he would probably focus on the view from the rooftop. But for me, the real moment was in a subway that didn't know our names around strangers who probably thought expensive brands could make their names and bodies more valuable. The real moment was timeless, and independent of space, and it knocked at the door of my fortress.

In all honesty, it took me a while to understand that the world I live in is mostly about decisions, sometimes about actions and rarely about words, that when you read someone else's words, you only understand what you wish to understand, that all decisions are real actions yet some actions are a waste of time, that all actions are meaningful words but some words are a waste of breath. And regardless of what I say now, you probably have no idea what I really mean because whoever you are, you're just like me, stuck in a dream that you don't understand. Yours is perhaps in a painting that you can't draw yet while mine is in a book written in an ancient language that I don't understand.

In any case, whatever you choose to name your painting, be sure to figure out the name of the artist(s) first.

All those wishes upon a dream and I sit and watch them float around me. I slowly watch them die just as slowly as I realize that I don't deserve them.

Sometimes, the dream deserves a better dreamer. Sometimes, dreamers die because their dreams become nightmares. Sometimes, the dreamer and the dream don't know that they're the same person. Sometimes, they just want a good night's sleep and sometimes they just need to wake up. And sometimes, time kills them both with a single shot to the heart. But sometimes, in a flashing moment, you understand that your dream is a mirror, and you wish for it to be unbreakable. And that is how a dream triumphs over time and destroys it in a single, eternal moment of love, most real, most true.

Once upon a dream, I folded the night and my heart into the wings of a paperplane. 

Once upon a moment, the plane flew and disappeared in your eyes.

And one day, the morning sunlight will seep through the windows and fall upon the covers covered with our scent. And my eyes will be open and yours will be closed. And the paperplane will reappear - at least in my imagination - and the wings of night and heart will unfold. And that's when I'll tell you the story behind the wishes upon the dream.

I'd start at the beginning, where most things usually end:

"Once upon a time, I met this girl [...]"

And once I say that, you'll smile because you want me to know that you're only pretending to be asleep.

Then I'll wake up.

In the symphony of silence, we remember moments.

Yet, in the melodies of noise, time makes us forget.

                              ~

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Albus Dumbledore