As it is, my dreams have always been like feature films, now that I have been living in a hotel for the past nine days with zero human interaction, I knew at some point it would all come back, not the dreams but the old insecurities posing as dreams, all those years of living alone and the silence, the silence - and it's always about people, the ones who left, the ones who stayed, the ones who will leave, and the ones who will stay on...it fades away in this part though.
It's a lovely morning, and my eyes are wet from all the strain that I had to live through last night- but here we are again, old foes and friends, springing towards a perfect day, looking to find the motif of purpose that will repeat in space-time before all that memory disappears. I stood up and addressed my jawline to an imperfect smile, the one I put out when I meet kind women, a smile neverthless, a smile without an audience- the mirror catching it all, two minutes of vertical toothbrush movements, and it's all gone now, the dreams, an unreal carnival of suffering, uncalled for, always uncalled for- they are easy to forget in my waking life.
When you were young you were like a bird that darted for the blue sky, and you slammed against a glass wall and hurt yourself, you are still that bird. Aren't you?
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