I had that recurring dream again–life was happening to me and I could not stop it.
I set sail in a ship made of rotten wood–into the angry sea and there was turbulence. I was alone–as I always was because that is how I want it to be. And the void was searching for me. And what was I searching for? I had ceased to search for anything a long while back. Because everything was the same. I stopped looking for people in people–I stopped everything — but the world does not stop for anyone. Yet it seems to have stopped too–this time.
Everyday I hear sirens–from far away but they seem to be calling me to the great oblivion. They aren’t ominous–but they are not happy either. It is like clockwork–you can hear the crescendo at a particular point–until you cannot. They wake people up momentarily only to have them sleep again in a sombre, vapid dream like confusion.
People are faulty. They probably have recurring dreams too–of life happening.
On my roof is a hollow red dot which connects me to a sublime absurdity–it looks back at me as I stare at it. It is a red dot and there is not much to it.
I have never been in love–it does not exist outside my imagination. Outside are people carrying themselves alone–in hopes to share that burden–but they never allow anyone to share it. They think that it will rain red glitter for them and they will feel again–but they never do. They become birds–always fleeting. I do not think anyone is ever capable of love. It does not exist outside their imaginations. And we don’t feel anything anymore–so we don’t imagine anything anymore. Because as it happens–all the while we long for a home–but we are a world full of homeless people who live in shabby houses with others, who live in windowless houses with others, who live in rooms which have red dots on the roof.
I had that recurring dream again–life ceased to happen to me–and I stood outside in the glitter rain and I laughed until I had tears in my eyes. And life was a festival but I was not invited.
There is a red hollow dot on my roof and it seems to be growing. One day it will take the fragile roof with it and I will be exposed to the open sky which is so close yet so far away and it has nothing to tell me now, because I stopped looking for answers. I stopped.
I had that recurring dream again–the blind, deaf man stood in a field of red leaves and danced to the what he thought was music in his head, thinking the world cannot see him. And he was only halfway out of the dark.
I can hear airplanes going to places I have never been to. I can hear them glide through the sick sky–going to places I will probably never go, taking people who I will never meet. And I wave it goodbye because I know it will not return. Nothing ever does–and that is how it is supposed to be.
I had that recurring dream again–about the red hollow dot on my roof. I kept looking into it and found myself at the very ugly core of it. That red hollow dot had always been me. But I had forgotten–as I was supposed to.
Tonight I will not sleep and the void searches for answers within me. But I am a red hollow dots and answers do not exist anymore.