I open my eyes, and see you laying beside me. You, whom, I cannot remember anymore, your obscure silhouette. Your most defining feature, your eyes, as if they we’re the center, of something greater, eyes that seemed to have been deliberately chosen, and placed, into your eye sockets, eyes in which I saw, a most transcendental love, which you yourself we’re unaware of, but simply we’re. I lay beside you, looking into your eyes, searching, asking, and seeing, that I’ve been loved for so long, but could not see.
I open my eyes, and look beside me. No one, it’s me, and my bed. I look around, the same old room, the desk, the plants, the bookshelves, the orange and green walls, they are all there, to remind me, that I’ve not found you yet. I try to recall, the dream I just had, but it’s been obscured, by the lightness of day. Eyes, ones which, I could not quite make out, but eyes. Why do I keep having this dream? Those eyes, seem to reappear every night, to tell me something. Oh well, I think to myself, better get ready for my day. You see, I’m quite the early riser… is what I wish I could say. I am no early riser, I severely dislike waking up any time before 8, and construct my schedules around this preference. Call me lazy, or call me well-rested, I prefer well-rested. On this particular day, I woke up at 8:45, a favorable time for me, feeling quite well-rested. I noticed the sun, shining through my window, illuminating my room, and bringing to light the dust which floats in the air. I should probably, clean all this dust that has accumulated. You see, I’m not the tidiest person ever, I don’t like structure, so to say, but perhaps, this has to do with a deeper psychological idiosyncrasy which has plagued me for quite some time. I enjoy my things in a particular order, and I love to have space, however arrange things too neatly, and I somehow feel out of place, ironic, isn’t it? Well, yes, I wake up, thinking about certain things, my thoughts drift by, like passing boats, I say hello, and bid them farewell. I install myself at my desk, drinking the water I had prepared for me the night before, and commence my morning writing session, just a couple of pages of nonsense, inscribing those passing boats in my morning journal, and giving them a space to float, in this little booklet of me. I write, that which my heart tells me, that which appears to me in my mind, and other things from a source which I myself cannot understand so much. Particularities about me, I have this idea, of myself, that I’m an alien, yeah, alien. Let’s see, what is the definition of an alien, “too different from something to be acceptable or suitable”, according to the Meriam Webster dictionary, which I keep close to me at all times, I’m quite the fan of language and words. Alien, different, somehow, not fitting into, the puzzle of society which I’ve been persuaded into, I feel as though, I’m suffocated by all this, like I cannot bear these burdens, they are shackles, which simply don’t fit me. So, a little while ago, I decided to, abandon this structure, live in it, but not by it, so I wake up, with this sense of, possibility, always possibility. And that is where I stand now, in an unknown current of mystery, where shall it bring me, well that’s the mystery! Come with me I urge you. On this lovely morning, my emotions are quite riveting, I feel almost reborn, after this sleep, this dream, however, seems to always, lurk beneath me. In my psyche, this girl, whom I share this most wonderful and dream-like moment with, we seem to be conjoining in another world perhaps. That’s how I like to conceptualize it at least, for the purpose of romanticizing my all too simple life.