Where has the time gone? Swept away by endless sleeps and fractured realities that have left our dreams to die, and so now I sleep to dream – once again. In these moments things feel much more different than they have ever felt before. For the bleak outlook that my eyes have been fit to see has begun to sharpen, like a sharp sense of blackness – surrounding. It’s a new type of dark, and it’s found it’s way within this line, if you could even call it that. More like a space within an area of fractured reality, a flawed existence that seems to have lost it’s sense of purpose, a dwindling spectacle within the reflections of the universe – not even part of the whole – but a mere mirage, in a way like a phantom. I have closed my eyes and these false memories, happenings, and realities have begun to take a toll on me worse than I could ever imagine. The flashing to violent the it has begun to manifest as pain in my head. Whatever this might be in essence, whether a different reality calling to me, or perhaps a glimpse of things that should have been or what are to come, it clings to me and tightly – like a noose around my neck.
The suppression of these thoughts and longings of what may reside ahead has resulted manifested in it’s own sense of pain, it trickles and spreads throughout my essence, throughout my core. This isn’t even taking into the account of the pain and toll that it takes to remain here – shackled to this very dulling existence. Like addiction to some constant and twisted sense of torture, I still remain, with even my dreams now seemingly taunting me, speeding up this fading of mine – showing me nothing relevant to this state of reality; to the tangible that resides in front of me, here and now. In a way, this pain has helped my tired eyes look at things in a different view, almost as if I put on a new pair of blinders – fit for the storm of blackness that awaits ahead, fit for the ride that this fading has been longing to put me through all this time. I wish I could have told you of the things that I dreamt, I wish I could tell you what I thought they meant, I wish you could tell me what you think they mean. Pondering on all of this is simply just a waste of whatever fading time I have left, time that goes by faster than I can see – bleeding into the next life, a new life that innately screams of promise. But despite the trauma this pain and these sleeps bring, I am grateful – for once this fading is no longer stagnant, and the emptiness has subsided, at least for now. I know what these moments are in essence, I know what is to come within the coming hours, a phase of sleep so deep and so hypnotizing; the only decision to be made after it subsides will be if I am willing to accept what is to come, and if I am willing to endure it.
November sunsets have a different feel to them, they are eerie in essence. They bleed out a signal that is mute to the ears, but deafening to the mind. It is something I could never quite explain, but it has left me in a void before these sleeps, a void that acts like a guiding hand throughout these dreams, keeping me bound to earth, keeping me bound to the living. Without it, I would surely be gone – like a guiding darkness that pushes through the shifting and shuffling of the ever-expanding reality, timelines, and universe that my mind seems to conjurer up as I drift off into a state of nothingness. I am making my way through this slowly, but surely. And though I know this will be present for some time, likely long after I must make the decision to be strapped within the seat of this fading once again, I know that if I can sift and swim through it’s white noise, and decipher it’s visions that resonate – I will string together a state that is much better than the state that remains before me today. There is hope, so to speak, but the hope that I hold is no longer the hope of a false light that I once followed, a false light that I once swore too – before the exile. The hope that I cling to comes from within the depths, deep within the crevices of my soul, hidden far within corners that should never be searched. It’s a desperate sense of hope, but it’s born of some innate knowing of everlasting existence, of some innate knowing of everlasting freedom; a knowing that knows no bounds, a knowing that moves within the dark, swimming through the fear, swimming through the trauma – it’s always there, even when I reach my breaking point, even when the pain reaches it’s absolute peak. It’s a hope that knows that even in the end, even when this all ends and dwindling borrowed time claims what’s left of my essence – that I’ll be able to dream free in the end.
