I know I am awake, but I can’t open my eyes…their lids are far too heavy. I am just to tired. I feel the light that waits for me beyond these thin layers of skin. I miss my old house, my old life and former freedom. Moments before this rude awakening-my dreams blossomed with the past.
Sitting on a bench, the setting Sun in plain view. The air itself tasted sweet. My home was placed atop a hill within a small cluster of trees. I could see grazing cattle and here the bees buzz from my bench. In this dream place of mine; silence sings the prettiest song and nothing you do can ever be wrong. I am sick of being wrong. Sitting I sip my lemonade, smoke my tobacco and mind my business. This is the best dream I’ve had in so, so long.
Now that I am awake, it is time to fight the light. Consciousness is something you don’t often fight. So, I do what I must to survive in the dust. Awake within the four lonely walls of this apartment bedroom. This where a Father cries himself to sleep and I pray for it to stop. This is where a family is not. This is where regret burns holes into your chest. This is where I live now.
No longer do I walk through grassy plains with my little sister in ephemeral time; talking of trivial thoughts and things. Where I sit now, is inert. The buildings can’t become homes. This place is a punishment.
(Somehow) I feel responsible for this. My makers told me; you cannot live estranged for years and not grow apart. I believe we broke our own hearts.