From a colored dreamful night, I drifted and eventually woke up. ‘twas dreamy and cloudy and very floral in scent. I cannot remember the dream exactly but the breathless feeling I had after opening my eyes tells me that it almost caught me off guard. The wind blows the curtain so swiftly yet so gently, forceful but with grace, almost dancing. The wind is like a ballerina, performing her sweet sonata. It was five thirty in the morning and the sun should already be in the horizon but it seems like he gave it a miss and perhaps still dreaming. Suddenly, I am envious of him. The sound of the rain falling on the rooftop isn’t musical in quality this time. It gives me the feeling of nostalgia and the sense of un-belongingness to the world. Little by little, as each drop collapses its grip from the clouds, I move inch by inch to prepare for this day as the aroma of coffee and bread penetrates my skull, tempting me for a sip, enticing me of its distinct flavor yet never fully waking me up. Ironic.
I bathed with bittersweet laziness. I was trapped to where I stood that the chillness of the water made it impossible for me to move and made me neglect time and energy and other factors that constantly remind me of being alive. I felt like a fly on the sticky spider’s web, waiting for his appetite. I wanted to perspire and go back to the reality and finally wake up but with the weather? Nearly impossible! I can’t even feel the heat from the core. It made me doubtful about existing.
I clothed myself with love. “This day is going to be great,” I said and my ego screamed, “Well I hope it is”. It was too loud that it made me deaf to hear my convictions that this day will really be great. Apparently, I found my Communication 3 subject senseless because I cannot even sway myself. Endless walks, grumbling stomach, idle hours, numbers, theories, vectors, angles, projectile… I returned to bed with those thoughts, never wanting to dream about them and wishing to be detached from the burden in my veins. Ah, that song - the one played by the angel in my dream or perhaps just residing in my ears – that sweet lullaby is irresistible. How can someone as feeble as me fight reality? How can I move freely from this prison of illusions and wishes? How can I move out from the conspiracy of the story which we later called Life? How is it probable to wake up from a very comfortable state of being?
…and there, floating, the bubble of my dream. “Prick me now,” it says or else, I’ll be trapped forever. That was quite a warning. Every bit of my unsinkable spirit was there – all my deepest hopes and even my secret desires are at hand. Though these seem achievable, they are still intangible. How can I ever prick it out? How can I watch it all sinking when it had given me so much… so much that it drowned me out. Alas, the bubble was growing smaller, rippling itself, chased by a shot of my fear. Alas, why did it ever have to be pricked out during the time that I am having the happiest moment of playing with it?
The clock went hysterically irritating again. I guess it’s over. I guess that sweet dose of mind's eye is already enough for another month or so and that I am faced with my Math again. This time, no more excuses, just purely focused.