in dreams
Last night was very odd and emotional. Unless a miracle occurs, I suspect that this weekend could be just as soul destroying as the last one, perhaps more so. My dad rang, but because of my funk, I responded in monosyllables, ending the conversation in near silence, with a discernible lump growing at the back of my throat. My pillowcase proved adequate in soaking up my tears, and I fell into an uneasy, restless sleep at 22:00.I don't usually dream. If I do, the dream is either indescribably strange, or so realistic that every memory of it is gone by morning. But my dreams do have one thing in common - they all draw upon things ingrained so deeply in my subconscious, bringing them to such vivid light that sometimes following the most realistic dream, I wake up completely incapable of distinguishing between life and dream. Last night, I dreamt five times, waking up briefly in between each. I do not remember any of them, save one.
I was taking a bus to Japan. I was going to be there for at least two months without friends or family. My parents drove me to the coach station, and as our car drove by the platform, life rolled by in slow motion. I caught glimpses of the others I'd be travelling with. Some were old, most were young. They all looked as if they had spent their whole lives looking for a place in which they could belong, but were still endlessly searching for it.
There was no car park so my dad waited in the car whilst mum helped me to the platform with my baggage. I then had to say goodbye to my father. He opened the front car door, whilst looking straight ahead. I didn't need to look directly at him to know that his eyes were red and filled with tears. I remember the smell of his shirt as I leaned in and embraced him; I remember with crystalline clarity the way in which he responded 'I'll miss you too'. At that point, I awoke with a start, not knowing what time or place I was in, not knowing if my sheets and pillows were tangible, or simply part of my imagination. The only reality I could be certain of was the tears sliding at full force down my face, the only warmth in an otherwise cold and silent morning.
L'Esthete @ 09:34
