There is a bittersweet lie evolving in my head. Don’t get me wrong, the lie is sweet, it is just the bitter taste of reality greets me every morning. It’s as if there is a war between the two sides of me which seems futile and persistent every night. There is a shining layer on my world, everyone and everything seems coexist harmony. I awake every day and there is the sweet aftertaste of fantasy resting on my tongue, it is abruptly stolen by the sour realisation of the truth. I realise that I am not making any amount of sense here but that is not my aim. Everyone has that time, that moment where they just feel like everything is perfect, even if it makes an appearance for a millisecond and then departs. For me, I rest my head on my tear sodden pillow once more and I escape to a place where the world seems better, not the world that you and I encounter know I must say. It is my world. This is the only place where anything seems possible, and the only impossibility is impossibility itself. You can call me crazy if you wish, but I believe that everyone has this place, mine just happens while others sleep. During the day my mind seems to remain dormant and at night it appears as if it is alive with bursts of frantic energy. Each night without fail I am swallowed by the darkness of my domain as I burrow into my bed. I draw my eyelids like blinds as they grow weary and defiant in their battle of sleep. It’s as if they ache for the escape and wonderment that my heart so longs for. Daylight only brings the trials and tribulations of conflicting emotions, while reality observes with twisted pleasure.
So here I am, in the same old routine. Not that this is a problem I must say, routine has never been a grievance of mine, in fact I find it to be a daily perk as I feel that I am sure of the upcoming events. The darkness has covered me once again as I pull back the duvet shield that lies over me and protects me from the trauma of the day. My eyelids gently cradle my eyes like a mother and new born child upon first meeting and I sigh with overwhelming relief. This is my time now and no one can take that away from me. I feel myself drifting as a message in a bottle would on its journey to the shore. I can feel the same feeling in my stomach that greets me every single night, the feeling of trembling butterflies cowering at the thought of something that I often meet. For my journey, I travel on the feelings that propel inside me until I reach the desired destination. It seems tonight that I am returning the same place that I have drifted to on many of occasions. I fall from cloud nine to the sands of my dreams. Though this is not the falling that you would usually think of, I welcome this falling as a form of heightening my own senses and sending me to my visions. Caught in a trance my heart flutters at the thoughts that meander through my mind and settle as snow on a mountain top. There is a particular face that intimidates and comforts me at the same time as if it has unlocked the key to the deepest and darkest secrets my heart harbours. There is a rush of feeling that encapsulates my every surface when the name crosses my mind. This name enters my mind as it habitually does, that name holds the key to each daydream and hope that my caged heart holds. In my world, he knows. In my world, I have all that I have ever dreamed of and all that I have ever wanted the only way to get these things is to want it enough.
It is true that my world diminishes as the light increases and I am once again met with the bitter truth. If only. If only the owner of this name knew the heartache that has conquered my every though, feeling and emotion as they are unaware of their effects. Each fibre of my body is screaming and aching for this one owner to realise what is going on. If only he knew that in every silence there is the deafening urge and yearning of a hopeless heart lost in a dream world. This heart is burnt daily by relentless downpours of the acid rain of truth when the mind is awoken. I am not in my dream world now and sadly this feeling of contentment cannot thrive in the sour certainty of day.