Wednesday, December 21, 2005

These days, her dreams are the only place she can hide in... away from the reality she dreads facing. She used to fear the dreams, nightmares night after night, waking up, droplets of sweat running down her face, her body trembling in the cold, yet feeling strangely warm. But the nightmares validated her every assumption. All the imaginary scenarios, hurting her every moment of the day, every second before going to sleep, were pure reality in her dreams. She didn't have to suffer from the lack of knowledge, what made her doubt whether she even had the right to pass judgements.

Her world was more real in her dreams than anywhere else, cause how can we live life when constantly and mentally occupied with real characters having imaginary conversations, creating nonexistant relationships?...

So she woke up after 12 hours of sleep, drained, not able to move a muscle. She was still angry, but at what? at who? and why? She didn't remember, but she knew she couldn't find the answer at the breakfast table... So she went back to sleep, having singled out the one soul she was sure can outrage her beyond imagination, planning to do whatever was in her power to leave no trace of him in her life. Alas, the satisfaction was shortlived... Having eliminated her sole enemy, having let her imagination go wild, devising new ways of torturing he who had hurt her, having danced in the pool of blood, singing songs celebrating her victory; she woke up. The satisfaction replaced by the ever familiar feeling of emptiness, realizing that he remains as real as always, as close as ever, and she couldn't imagine her hatred growing any stronger.

So she put her head down. Her body tried rejecting the signals from the brain, it was fully charged, ready to run for miles. But she fell asleep instantly, wanting to escape the outside world forever, wanting to live in her own world, where nothing rested on assumptions.

Did she ever wake up? As far as I know, she remained asleep for eternity. She had finally found a place that justified her immaturity of not asking. In her eyes-shut-world, everything was the truth, the truth she could bend as easily as bending a straw, just by wanting to believe what was only a guess.

It was childish, yes, but it protected her; from letting him crush the world she's built, winning, just by saying:
"your guess, was wrong after all".