Real world... Dream world – what does it matter to you... to me? Sometimes it's hidden, so you just can't see it. Sometimes you get to see the difference... just for a glance through a thin veil of fine mist. However, most of the time you can't tell one from the other. It's a matter of mystique, really. It's like a thin sensitive bond between the tissue and the bones, all so tightly interconnected, creating a world filled with living dolls... a world filled with... well, people. Like with puppets... there is someone pulling the strings from time to time, creating all those scenarios. Making life look like heaven... or a living hell... Just like a movie producer of some kind – sometimes sane, sometimes sick in the mind!
Ok.... I know... I know what you are thinking, this very second... trust me! So, as a writer using his magic of ink and paper... Let us freeze time for a moment...
It's not an easy thing to explain, so let's say it's kind of a thing of the inner world that we all have deep inside, in a state of wakefulness, or a state of sleep... Every story begins the same way – with those same old words: Long time ago... and it's kind of a cliché.
Days are passing so fast – hours... minutes... so fast that I can't get a grasp on anything that I start writing. It seems like I can't even finish a simple sentence. I feel like I am losing myself in a lake of eternity. A lake full of unwritten songs and stories that are blocked inside my inner world – my own personal world of art and magic. Yet, when I start thinking... with each passing day, I can see more clearly that years have gone by since the last time I wrote something... anything.
So, moments come and go. They disappear in an unknown direction, following the mindflow like a leaf that had fallen from an old ancient tree – it follows the river that carries it away on a long trip into the unknown. Yet, we all know there is an end to every flow! But think twice... is it really so? Thoughts so deep, so profound, like the deepest ocean. Words inspired by love so deeply carved into the very fabric of my soul. Words so wise that even I sometimes ask myself: Where do they come from? I feel them, but even if I try to describe them, it seems to be in vain because I lose them from my soul's inner sight in a blink of an eye.
This story begins, as I said, a long, long time ago. Years ago, on a cold February night, I was sitting on my bed thinking, writing some poetry like I usually did when I felt bored with the reality that surrounded me. And then I saw it – the spark that changed something on that day. I had my eyes fixed on a light so bright that it had somehow illuminated my very soul from the inside – some kind of a warm light. In that small room it was shining so brightly that in that moment, it looked magical... almost unreal. The only other light was coming from an old thick red beeswax candle, burning and dripping down the stem while situated on an ancient Gothic candle stand that was old enough that I could even write a story about it, and a very long, interesting one, but not now... some other time. There, in the darkness of the night, colored with gentle red candlelight, it was shining so warmly, so brightly, that it lit up the whole room. Looking towards the full moon, I felt for a moment an angel-like touch – as soft as cotton, like a feather from an angel wing... I got goosebumps all over from head to toe. And just seconds before an old cathedral clock tower in the city square struck midnight, a strong cold winter wind savagely opened the already loose window that was barely holding on to an old wooden frame, latched with just a small rusty metal hatch. The last red rose petal fell on the night table where the blood red rose had stood for days like a monument to a once blooming, but now lost love, in a pretty Gothic vase, waiting for her to come back. A rose that I had bought for her on Saint Valentine's day like I did every year for decades now. A rose that was a symbol of my eternally burning desire... a living flame of love that I felt for her. The petal that fell now looked more like a drop of blood on that old scratched wooden floor... And just when I was about to extinguish the candle flame before going to bed, I heard a faint knocking on the door and a distant voice calling me by name. As I opened the door, I froze for a second, but it felt more like an eternity... for there she was. She... she was standing before me, prettier than ever. As she took a step closer, I could feel her touch my arm... feel her hug me... and in that moment, the door slammed shut and I woke up to realize it was just a dream... or was it a faint echo of a distant reality?