Waking up can be really harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. The saddest part of it is, though, that eventually even the memory of your dream will fade - if you are even lucky enough to remember it that is. Then you're left with this lonely feeling of detachment, left to explore in the empty void of emotions, the only proof that you ever had the dream to begin with.
I would dedicate my every song to you, think about you even when I would be dreaming. I wanted you all to myself. This was neither love nor obsession; it was the fear of losing you, losing you forever. This fear of mine is what brought us together and now I am afraid that this fear is also going to the one to make us fall apart from each other. Just the thoughts of being away from makes me quiver; I hope you never leave me alone because then this fear will turn into hatred and abhorrence.
In the pandemic we stopped all mortgage payments and rent payments for a year, that with the education budget going into universal child care payments, more parents were able to stay at home, support their children and stay safe. And, for the teenagers, we did something a little extra, we texted them a new code every week for free take-away in their area - everyone needs a little boost every now and then, and this kept them far happier and healthier. Many restaurants and pubs joined in the effort to keep the food-love flowing, and as a bonus it kept their businesses thriving even in those tough times. All we asked of our kids is to make art, make music, make videos that kept each other happier - to become an emotional life support system for youth. And as for the teachers? The education sector for online support expanded so fast, innovating and providing better teaching methods than classrooms can ever cater for... it was a win-win all round.
Imagination is painful and tiresome. The ability to create your own world or scenarios which will never happen; can make you fell like collapsing to the ground. The ability to make yourself so happy only to snapped out of you trance by the slightest movement. The pain you can cause yourself just by reminiscing. Your imagination has the ability to mess with your flashbacks making them feel even more horrendous then the true story. So, if you could switch it off. Would you?
At first glance, Tate seemed like the kind of guy you hired to kill your husband: leather jacket, dusty tank top, bandanna, multiple gory tattoos, a stupid vintage pickup he drove, smoked in and blasted heavy metal from. If a stranger ever spoke to him, his dry wit supported their prejudices. But that’s not the man that I knew.
I knew the Tate who sent you smiles so bright you could see them from across the Pacific Ocean and whose thoughtfulness warmed your heart. I knew the Tate who broke out his guitar at 8am to have what he called a “living room concert”. I was best friends with the man whose sky blue eyes sparkled like those of a child in a candy store and whose laugh was so contagious you often found yourself breathless in his presence.
Tate was the kind of guy who would drag you out of the house in the middle of the night to get a greasy snack, who spent hours sketching the same thing until he got it right and, most of all, he was the kind of friend who never failed to distract you from your everyday worries.
The forest hums with life all around me. I twirl about, gazing up at the canopy, searching for the birds that sing sweetly. The sun breaks through the cracks, lighting up the dirt path ahead of me, decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunch beneath my bare feet. I trudge on, taking in the fragrance of minty grass and the damp earth. Each breathe is like water, fresh and cleansing, flowing freely into my lungs.