The eyes are slowly shutting; they place themselves somewhere between the worlds. Those lost, long forgotten, fermented dreams begin to boil, leaving sulfur trails behind them. It burns the skin, the bones, it tears off the skull. The blood evaporates. Nothing is left behind, nothing survives the storm unleashed by these volcanic images that refuse to let me rest.
The dream always starts the same way… hearing you take your last breath.
I scream, I call to you, I hold you tightly in my embrace hoping you can somehow hear me, hoping that we have such a strong connection that my pain can reach up to you and can grip your soul and bring it back from the arms of Death. And, somehow, you do hear me and you come back. You look at me, caress my face, wipe out my tears and say: “I can’t stay long. Do you wish to come with me?”. And I do. I lay next to you, put my head over your chest, I inhale your scent one last time and we leave this place together. But I get lost because the World of the Dead is infinite. I lose you and I lose myself searching endlessly for your shape.
And then I wake up.
My veins are filled with liquefied anxiety, my head is throbbing, my heart feels heavy. But I turn my head and see you. You’re still here, next to me, still asleep, safe and sound. I hear your breath, I listen to your heart beating calmly and I wish Death will take me first because I’ll never be able to endure even one second without you. The mere thought of you not existing sends sharp knives right through my spine. But I let life unravel and hope we won’t get separated, even in Death.
Now I wonder…
If I feel pain in a dream, does it mean is not real? Does pain get real only if I’m conscious? Because even when we’re dreaming pain feels as real as when we’re awake. These electrical signals sent from our brain have the same intensity in both states. So, I wonder, is pain real? Is fear real? What makes something be real? And more so, what does it mean to be real? Is real real?
Writing, Reading, Living, but mostly Hiding 