A Visit to that Room

Sometimes I wish I am not as lost as I truly am; that sunrise does not always lead to sunset, and that every morning does not need an evening. Sometimes I wake up and wish I am in a room full of people who are sleeping soundly, looking ridiculous in reality while in their deep dreams they are acting kings and queens.

Sometimes I like to watch these people in my mind, watch them roll on the mattresses on the floor and accidentally kick somebody as they stretch their bodies like cats do, and the victim of that kick will only wrinkle his nose and not wake up until noon, when he finally feels there’s a bruise surfacing on his right cheek.

I wish I’d wake up with these people and have no cares; that we’d talk and not be afraid that in a couple of hours, the day would end and we’d have to part ways to dream on our own again. There would be long stretches of space and nothingness between us, but it’s not a nothingness that is empty – just a nothingness that is silent but full of ineffable, incomprehensible, infinite meanings.

I do not know these people, but they occupy the spaces in my head sometimes. They have their own wishes and dreams, their own heartbreaks and infatuations, their own lusts and failures. We all want mornings without evenings, love without betrayal, and trust without crossed-fingers.

I guess we wish the same things too much, that’s why we end up stuck in my head for seconds and minutes and days and years and centuries unaccounted for.

When the day ends in my conscious dream, I know who these people really are.

Me.

I am full of myself.

At one point, that as a fact does not make me sad (anymore).

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