Nightmares and Daydreams

The same words but neither old nor tired although in a sense they and their descendants have been with us since we attained humanity. There are patterns and colors with which we become comfortable, they’re ours but never exclusively although it frequently feels as though they are. The same is true for the feelings they engender.

Nightmares and daydreams, shades of fantasy, unreal realities lost somewhere in the crevice between night and day, twilight creatures an instant before blending into dusk, then hiding amidst indigo’s shadows.

It’s gone though its memory lingers. It was so intense, more so than ever except perhaps at the distant beginning, but something went very wrong and then all the fissures developed over the years joined in an instant too brief to feel; and it vanished. It needed to, in a definitive act of self-sacrifice its departure neutralized pain that would have otherwise overwhelmed. Still, I hear echoes and see shadows of might have beens which sometimes thrill but just as often terrify.

I miss it I think, … but not tangibly. Almost as though what I miss is its memory, or perhaps I just sense that it’s something it’s wrong not to want desperately. I wonder if derailing just short of crescendo is really a negative thing, like a waylaid orgasm, or if like a blown fuse it saved me. How morbidly mundane these similes. Similes are, I think, just metaphor wannabees. Still, I hear echoes and see shadows of might have beens which sometimes thrill but just as often terrify.

Nightmares and daydreams, shades of fantasy, unreal realities lost somewhere in the crevice between night and day, twilight creatures an instant before blending into dusk, then hiding amidst indigo’s shadows.

The same words but neither old nor tired although in a sense they and their descendants have been with us since we attained humanity. There are patterns and colors with which we become comfortable, they’re ours but never exclusively although it frequently feels as though they are. The same is true for the feelings they engender.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2016; all rights reserved