I have not been happier than I have been in my dreams, lately. It seems that every waking hour I have spent less than ecstatic about my existence has pushed my subconscious into fits of dreams where I am smiling against the tide of my cheeks. My heart knows no pain or sadness when in the throes of the illusion conjured up by the empty space in my heart that has been there for the better part of this year. It’s a wound that won’t heal; it’s a space that is never filled because I won’t let it. Partially because I have no reason and also because I’m terrified of having it all taken away again. My conscious mind knows the force of the rug being pulled out from under it before it happens and my heart-the ballast-keeps me stable when it happens.
My dreams have been about being in love a lot lately. I don’t know why. I know there is a part of me that thinks I will be healed by finding the one that I find in my dreams but the reality is that she is just a dream. Dreams exist to keep the brain alive when the body is asleep. I wish I could tell you I believed that was its only purpose but I’ve seen too many things projected against the back of my eyelids that told me something insightful to simplify everything to so fine a point. My mind is expressing the things that I refuse to let get in my way right now.
More than anything I want to be left alone, but this conflicts with the desires of my heart which filter into my mind and soul. It’s not good for a man to be alone and I have been alone with my thoughts for a long time. My heart is still mending from the damage of a hard blow dealt from the last time I dove into that deep, warm water of someone else’s arms and I’m okay with that. There’s a part of me that wishes the rest of me knew that it needed to heal. But still I dream about women that I’ve never met and the thing my life seems to lack the most. Love. It’s a concept I don’t like to touch on but it’s a need of every human being. I am not beyond analyzing the fact that I am still human because my brain does it’s best to remind me of that fact.
These days are filled with a lot of sadness and depression. Sometimes, it’s just a melancholy buzz in the back of my mind. When I sleep I see and feel things I don’t feel when I’m awake. So, when my eyes open and I ascend into consciousness from my reverie there’s a certain darkness that sets in. I am no longer elated by the eyes of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, her presence, her touch. She was there and she was as real as the pillows in which I rest my head on. But the hook sinks in and rips the seam from illusion to reality and I’m left in the aftermath wondering what I did to deserve such cruelty.
I wonder when dream ceases being dream and becomes reality.
And then I swallow it down because it’s what I think I don’t want right now.