I stayed so long in the enclaves of a dream that seems more vivid than what it is perceived to be. I hate waking up and finding out the truth of that peering, in a world i know now that would never come true. The pain of that knowing fells like flowers trampled underfoot, a glass broken to a millions of pieces without a faint hope of retrieving how it looks before, a memory shattered unable to wake from its reality and move in sync with the rhythm of time. Well, nothing really explains the feeling; I just felt it good to find an explanation although explanations fall to the ground and not bearing fruit of understanding to the mind and ears of readers. I guess that’s the best way to explain feelings. You know it is there but never find the right words to make it livable in words enough to make an intelligible explanation.
I sit in the hope to pen down something meaningful for an assignment or whatever but my mind is clouded by a mist, or more probably a quiet storm. You might be wondering what i mean by a quiet storm. A quiet storm is a real storm devoid of the violent sound that comes with it and the slow motion button is pressed and the storm is ravaging through in the reality of a slowed motion, where every detail is witnessed and destruction perceived clearly. The glory of its strength, the terror of its destruction, the horror of its effects and the sorrow after it leaves, a storm captivates and leaves us spell-bound and wounded, motionless and numb. Well whatever it is, inside feels like that regardless of how I try to comfort it from being seen, I can’t possibly hide and put a mask and say I feel ok because it shows, but I hope i can mask it.
I feel hope has left me vacant again. It comes and goes at it pleases. Maybe hope is just in the bedroom sleeping, awaiting for me to wake it from its slumber and tell it to restore some sense of vividness and warmth to soothe this heart left in shambles and broken rubble. I get tired to continually build this tower because it keeps on falling and never seems to become the masterpiece that i envision in my head and mind. Either I’m simply lousy with my hands or I’m simply a person that does not learn from his mistakes, the uncompleted tower becomes a witness to that truthful reality. And so I wait sometimes grudgingly for hope, sometimes patiently, but mostly a shallow glimmer of what patience should be. Hope, I know has left for this time, and I don’t know if it would come back any time soon.
Sometimes when you really want something, it’s a commentary that you might not even have a faint idea that you might not get anything in return. And so sometimes dreams help to usher that reality to come true, where you control the landscapes and events that make what you want to become a reality that comes true. But it’s just for a moment when night evades and light retreats and your sleep becomes a vehicle of that reality. Sometimes i want to stay there because it’s safe and it’s something I have control of. Not like reality when things are uncertain and is always fleeting and running away. But like a quote from Alice in the story “Alice in wonderland” i sit and reflect on its curious bent of meaning: “If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing will be what it is because everything will be what it isn’t.” Maybe for me, it had always been that way, the painful construction of living in a world controlled buy nothing but yourself.