Like a Dream

This will all be over soon. And when it is, I wonder how much will remain.
It will be like waking up from a dream. One of those dreams that took hold of you and ripped you apart.
But then when morning comes, you don’t remember a moment of it, and you merely wonder why you feel like crying. So you just go on as if nothing has happened, hardly realizing that not all of you is there. That part of you is hiding in a dark corner of your mind, mourning something that never was.
You move on, and forget even that vague feeling that there are tears somewhere in you that want to be cried.
You forget, but that part of you lives there forever.
Or perhaps it dies there.
It dies every moment, yet lives to die the next.
Odd things, dreams.
You create them yourself, yet never know where they came from, or where they’ve gone.

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Dewey Decimal Stickered Escape Routes

Now that Thanksgiving is over and the relatives are gone, the loneliness sets in again.

It’s been hanging around me a lot lately.

So I’ve been needing escape routes.

I have a whole stack of them. Glossy plastic-covered covers with Dewey decimal stickers.

Because when I read I enter a different reality. I befriend people and get to know them better than most people I know in reality.

When I read I’m not alone.

The trouble is that books end. And when they do, I find myself missing the people I’ve grow so close to and wishing they hadn’t left so soon.

And now I know of a world and people that no one else here knows. I’ve experienced things that I cannot speak of in normal conversation, for how could they understand if they haven’t felt it also?

So I find myself on a solitary island of Dewey decimal stickered escape routes.

Perhaps if I throw one far enough it will reach land. Perhaps it will hit someone on the head and they will shout back at me to stop being a nuisance, trying to get them to read my silly books.

Or perhaps they will pick it up and open it.

And it will stretch out before them like a bridge across to my island.