I dream. Sometimes I think that's the only right thing to do. I don't think my dreams are special. It just feels proper to be attached to them without having a need to give any specific explanation to anyone, starting with myself.
Often I dream with no purpose. Knowing that my dreams are not real does not disturb me. But when I dream, it is always as if I could almost vividly remember flying over the hills of my childhood or the warms of us being together in love. In my dreams we share what is still left in the shell of human solitude, resting inside the pacific despair of being alive. And it is beautiful.
And then another dream becomes just a memory. Each of them almost powerless to reflect the reality. Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart. As if you find yourself standing at the shore. You known it is the sun that is heating a tip of your feet. You know it is the sea that gently gives a cold kiss to it. But you don't see the storm coming and shaking the fishing boats.
In my dreams we always talk. It feels pleasant to hear if you have been thinking about me. If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets. Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time.
Remember the storm? This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the it doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. Your feet lost the connection with slippery sand of the shore, losing you to the sucking storm. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time.
Suddenly the memories are all around you. And you can recognize a familiar siluet, gazing away. "I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong." The presence of the women that you loved in your head makes the fabric of the dream painfully stretched. There is pause in everything. The storm is gone. All stars but one are not shown. She is that star. It's dazzling. And you feel no gravity and no gratitude towards her, only monotonic cold of your sharpen body.
You can't look around. Fixed sitting in one ugly pose, neither you are able to return to reality, nor to dreaming. Your mind is focused on a continuum fall of several years climb. There is no single possibility to stop time of this existence. Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting. Pain turns inevitable. Suffering is optional. Reason heartlessly gives up itself to logic -- the only source of ultimate madness and rigor.
Start breathing. Breathe. Breathe again. Deeper. Don't feel sorry for yourself. Only assholes do that. It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story. I think even if the saddest story is ok, it becomes true by being interesting. We submit to its appeal and the story creates an intrigue, affects us, giving away everyone's thoughts. Don't feel sorry for affections, appearances, dreams, stories and dramas. Just live as if you are a ticking clock.
Everyone has a clock inside his heart. It just ticks.
Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.