| The sheets were pulled up to my throat, and I sank into them for hours while my mind sought any form of distraction the plain, cold room had to offer. I became fixated for what seemed like hours on the constellations I'd derived from the popcorn in the ceiling, exploring the world I’d created through images my conscious thought had pulled from the marks and indentions. A make-shift escape from a situation in which I was forced upon, the shapes evolved from mere circles and squares to horses and tidal waves and faces and birds, and though the images were at first enlightening, the bed remained cold on your side.
When placed into an unpleasant situation the human brain has an amazing ability to free itself with practice, patience, and imagination. Without the help of a television screen or internet server I had been able to entertain a restless mind for ages. Though, mind you, when reality catches up and the lines between veracity and child’s play no longer seem blurred, the truth seems to strike with extra force, as if to compensate for any missed opportune misery. Even as I lay asleep and dreaming, my eyes open to the realization that I am only delaying the inevitable absence of your arms intertwined with mine upon the arrival of morning. And so, when the day makes it’s grand entrance through the blinds, I simply pull the sheets over my head and create an artificial night.
The time passes slowly when your concentration shifts from the present to the much awaited future. My pulse hit with each strike of the big hand as if synchronized. We all live around the clock, the unquestionable omnipresence of time. “Time is not my master.” But yet you wake and rest to the patterns of your own biological time bomb. They tell you that you can put your ear to a seashell and hear the relaxing symphony of oceans, but I can only make out coordinated ticks.
How much time have we wasted? Of this, I am unsure, and though the thought may seem unsettling, if we venture back to the amazing ability of the human mind and it’s capabilities of distraction, we’d rather focus the attention into a different form of light. Allow me to rephrase, as I choose to focus on the times which were in fact not wasted but enjoyed, and in the throes of the mind's eye that carries me back, you can find me continuing to bask until the time presents itself that these memories are no longer dead, but very much alive, once again, in my present day life.
-And until this day, you can find me locked in my own thoughts, dreams and memories until the distinction between ‘imagination’ and ‘true-to-life’ fades and becomes the current moment. I apologize if this whole rant strikes you as austere, but it comes from the heart.
You are not wrong to think that you are loved. Indeed, it is the only stable emotion I have. 
Hibernation |
