If Wishes Had Wings Love Would Go There to Die
written a couple of years back, transferred from retired blog.
I wonder how often the rest of the world stays locked in with the dream world while awake. I know how often I do it, and I have concluded I don't do it enough times because we’ve become uninterested or maybe we are still on our way to becoming uninterested, but the way I insist that my senses snap out of it once we start feeling that non stringent pull to the realm of dreams while awake, scares me. I do not know who I am becoming. Or maybe I know, and we simply do not care.
'I'm so sorry, I know I shouldn't be sending you this message, but I just have to send it', a friend sends this text.
'Tu va bien', an ex friend who never uses question marks, sends this text.
'Will I see you tonight? It's been months!', a ghost still has a way to reach you so they send this text.
'Inshallah Inshallah I hope we resolve all this soon', that friend concludes their text.
The subject of each message stays irrelevant. The struggle between the dream of each one and the reality of our living, the condition of our actual lives, stays potent like the smell of rain in the air three times a week, as loud as the screams of the infant each morning from the next apartment, but everyone ignores it. We dream instead of the garden we planned to visit last week which we'll try to make it to this week. Of the depth of friendship we want while we can't hold the seeding ones in front of us. Of a lovers quarrel that would hurt so much but then it would lead to an everlasting love. Yes most of us dream alike. We keep the realm of dreams potent with our breaths while we are awake and idle in flesh. Not idle as in not busy, but idle as in I'd rather not deal with this reality because this mirror in my room or as my phone screen is made of water and I am in it, drowning. Maybe your garden is the beach or an intent whatever it is, it belongs to you. Mine has become a web of things I gather interest to do, to pursue until my life reminds me that the scream from the infant in the next apartment is real, I listen in only to realize daily that I am the scream.
I am afraid these days, especially, of my insistence to snap out of the dreams that come to lay hold of my senses while I am awake. I do not want to assume a lover's breath potent in some wavering consciousness while mine is solid here waiting for me as a scream. I am becoming more and more uninterested in things that rest in the realm of intentions.
So Inshallah Inshallah I hope we resolve all this soon.
