Wednesday, 26 September 2012
She says I'm not living in this world. the world hardly real and yet here, in front of me all the time. I know what I am not doing, I know what has not happened, I know what happened to me that made me think I could give up the future in its favor because maybe I'm not worth it but that one specimen is. The past is behind me if I'd only believe it and maybe I would if I knew where I was going. She says that the void is so vast between the life I'd grown up almost expecting and the way it's all happening. Nothing is wrong with now and I'm not dreaming but she knows me. She knows I am. Maybe without ever having even seen the cover of my journal she knows every word I have ever written in it because I said it in my mind and she heard me because she is my mother. I can't tell the difference between when the day begins or ends or when I'm dreaming my short, dull dreams. Because you see even my dreams are not dreams anymore, they are what happens all the time, what I know will happen and everything that doesn't matter like opening a door, or closing a drawer. So normal they are, so quiet, so ordinary. And when I wake up, they might as well have not happened because I can't see the difference. I can't tell the difference. Every now and then I have a slightly new dream of someone I remember before the world happened to both of us. It wasn't the world, I just wanted to see something so badly, it became real for a lifelong minute there. So real that I devoted myself to it. It wasn't even an idea, it wasn't an opinion, it wasn't that feeling you feel when you know someone, it wasn't my creation, how could it have been. And yet there it is on eternal rewind in the back of my head and when I'm asleep it's always there because it cannot reach me during the day when my mind is otherwise painfully engaged. I remember it like a fantasy movie I saw as a kid and then dreamt about it for years and years. Sometimes you never ever even find out the name of that movie because it had an unknown cast, it's old and you just don't remember enough of anything. That movie is forever lost but it never leaves you. It plays and plays and you can't be sure it wasn't real. Who is to say that I didn't see all of that, and that it did not really happen? Who are they to know anything of what I am.Was it real, for a second there? How could I have come so far, lost so much for something that is entirely something else? She says 'let it go', 'forget'. But I have forgotten. Forgotten too much. And then you have to wake in the middle of the night to realize your old dreams are entirely lost to you and that they cannot live again just like you, cannot ever wake up again.