I have been thinking about the past a lot recently. I believe that fear and nostalgia has gripped me as it has been a very long time since I have thought back to the past of many years ago. The past is a strange concept. We remember the past through memories. My memories are like my dreams; filled with ghosts. I remember this one girl who had a strange name. I thought of her while walking through roads which pointlessly ran through and intersected around grassy plots of land. My memory of my fleeting walk through that vacant grassy landscape is dreamlike. Does the place exist? I can say for certainty it does. But then one could question why were the roads intersecting and converging through the grassy landscape?

I would reply “because there used to be buildings where the grass is, but they tore down the buildings and now grass grows”.

Upon this logic grows and the dream evolves.

“Why were you walking through this area?”

“Because I live nearby and was taking a shortcut to Reykjavik”.

Although not untrue the credibility of reality drops. The illusion shatters and I awake into the next dream.
The girl with the strange name; I wonder what became of her. Like a character from a dream, she appeared, played her role, and then vanished into the ether. I have recently started asking the characters in my dream about the dream. When asked an out of place question not relating to the situation of the dream or of the character, they all respond the same. They all start by staring at me. They make eye contact and they do not break it. They then either vanish or as of more recently stand there and stare at me ignoring my question. My question is always the same.

“Why?”

I don’t know why I ask “Why?” but I do know I want answers; answers which they refuse to yield.
Only the faint memory of the name remains in regards to the girl with the strange name.

Narrator: I wonder if the Dreamer ever thought that maybe it was those that he had dreamed that were asking
“Why?”
“Why did you dream me?”
“Why did you make me like this?”
“Don’t you know I’m not real?”
But I am?
Right?

Words words words

Words words words
They were all I ever had
Just a means of communication
But I could never fully communicate what I felt
I could never convey any of these emotions
What an impossible task
Impossible for anyone
I can never communicate a true feeling of mine to you
Nor you a true feeling of yours to me
Left in the self-realisation
Just words words words
Are we miscommunicating?
Or do we feel the same way?
‘Cause I can never find the words to say
So I grab a thesaurus and look up love
But all I find are words
And they are not sufficient
So I ask you
Look me in the eyes
Kiss me
Give me more than words words words

Narrator: Words are never enough…

In Other Words

Narrator: I think it is meant to have no words.
How meta?
No?
Perhaps imagine a kiss to your lips.

Tell me I’m real

The year is 201x
It is so easy to communicate
But when I am with you we are never alone
Everyone else is on your phone
They are always with us
And I feel so alone
The only time I don’t feel alone is when I am by myself
Or if we are in a park or a forest away from the rest of the world
But every other waking moment in this dream world
There is loneliness
Let’s talk
Please let’s talk
Why can no one talk anymore?
Am I the last person?
Please tell me I’m real
Everyone else lives in a dream world
I live in my imagination
Please come into my world

Narrator: The Dreamer is in a dream.
And realises it isn’t real.
This means that the Dreamer might also not be real.
And so the Dreamer panics.
Unable to communicate with anyone the Dreamer is trapped between two possibilities.
The Dreamer is either not real just like the dream world.
Or the Dreamer is real and is all alone in this dream world wishing to anything that can hear
“Please come into my world”.
But the Dreamer honestly doesn’t think that anything will hear…

To be continued...

@RiskDebonair
Irish writer, poet, & lover

Previously

Dream 1
The Dream Before the First Dream