Following the same pattern that I’ve run down before, I repeat these motions which have been burned into my brain, almost a muscle memory. Though everything is the same, something is different. My foot shakes uncontrollably, the tell tale sign of the subconscious letting me know what I should already know, or what I have been neglecting, ignoring, trying desperately hard to forget. This one moment of weakness where I let everything out everything will change, while the status quo remains the same. Everything moves forward, but nothing ever changes.
I wake up, but where? As if I didn’t know: I’m here. In my life. A part of this world that is my existence. Not that I particularly recall ever having approved these matters, this condition, this state of affairs in which I feature. Maybe ill stretch, nice and slow. To be sure that I’m myself and not part of something else. Yet ill remember the feel of the dream. So much that I swear I can reach out and touch it, and the whole of that something that includes me will move. I listen carefully, someone softly, almost imperceptibly, someone is crying for me. Gazing, I consider what it means to belong, to become part of something. To have someone cry for me. From someplace distant, so very distant. From, ultimately, a dream. No matter how far I reach out, no matter how fast I run, I’ll never make it, no I‘ll never make it. Why would anyone cry for me.