And so the Dreamer awakes once again.
He had one restless sleep last night, and when he thought he'd be able to sleep for some more minutes, the alarm clock buzzes like a pestilent mosquito, like a swarm of bees stinging his ears. He sighs. Somehow, he knows this isn't going to be a pleasant day. But he tries to shake that feeling away, knowing that he is no fortune teller, he knows not what the future holds in store for him this day.
Still, the feeling never leaves. The Dreamer is awake, and he feels the weight of the world upon his shoulders, even though he knows there isn't that much of a weight there after all - he's a Dreamer, and he's got a lot of imaginary problems....feelings, such negative feelings. But, he's keen to keep the promise he made on the break of a new year, yet another one. He promised himself.
But such promises are short-lived or are rumored to be so....he knows that. There is no real pain here. No real loss. And yet he lingers there, thinking. Dreaming. Snapping out of it for a moment, he proceeds to leave. There is a whole workday to be fulfilled, there are things to do, people to see, classes to attend to.
But as the bus carries him away, he quietly sits on his backseat, listening to his old tunes. The random selection created today seems to fit his tastes, seems to feed his unrest. He's restless today and he knows it. Instead of fighting it, he just let the dreams roll. He's a Dreamer. He knows where the secret lies. Where is the key to all that's sacred to him...to all that's pure.
So he sleepwalks around. He doesn't fight it; he wants to escape to his dreamland, to his ideal place, his idyllic rolling plains and endless, calm fields. Even though he knows...the further he ventures into his realm, the more difficult it gets to get out of such a place. The plains turn into marshlands, the fields becomes endless and treacherous bogs.
So he awakes once again, just in time to get out of the bus and face all the nameless faces around him on the street. Faces that mean nothing to him, and only adds more to the sense of despair that keep on following him today. He's got to live, he's got to find a reason. He's got somewhere to go, somewhere to be. But...He finds it nowhere. Not on this plane. Not on this realm, the real world.
But he knows it isn't possible to live in his Dreamland. He knows it.
So he strives to keep himself awake, and shake the awkward feeling away. He struggles to find that reason, that place, that person, whatever it is, that will keep him awake. That will bring the dream into the real world.
Is there such a thing? He doesn't know. And as he walks away, to another working day, we all get to see him dreaming as he walks, dreaming as he talks, sleeping as he's walking. Dreaming.
The Dreamer is awake, but at the same time, he isn't.
He only hopes for the best, he hopes that he'll find a friend today, someone to talk to, someone to share this bullshit with. He sits around and sips his coffee. He types his texts into his computer, and awaits. Until the day is done, what will happen to the Dreamer?
What will happen to someone that does not live here....even though he's always around?
What will happen to someone who know he's always wrong, even though he feels rightful to proclaim he's right?
The Dreamer awaits. And dreams around. Writes the dreams into secret files, secret stories that may never see the light of the day or meet the irises of unknown eyes. He dreams...but he tries to remain awake. He tries to stay with us. With the real world, the real people. Everything scares him, but he's managed to cope somehow. He's managed to stay awake, even though he's not here at all. The dreamland is a very solitary space, but is the safest of all places.
No-one will catch you there. No one will hurt you.
No one will ever see you.
No one will hear your wild music that burns inside, the truest of them all songs; all the crazy stories that will never, ever face the light of day. Never, ever.
No one knows you there....and yet you know everyone who's there. All you've ever created, all you've ever cared for. All that nonsense. Pain. Love. Value. Honor. A true heart.
None of this makes sense in the real world.
Shake it, shake it all away. He's still here, typing these words, this nonsense. He's got work to do. People to see. Classes to attend to.
He sighs, and awaits. He knows this is just a bad day, and it will go away...some day. For now, he just dream on. It's all he's got. It's all that makes sense to this nonsense head, to this frail mind.
He's the Dreamer. He dreams away.
He had one restless sleep last night, and when he thought he'd be able to sleep for some more minutes, the alarm clock buzzes like a pestilent mosquito, like a swarm of bees stinging his ears. He sighs. Somehow, he knows this isn't going to be a pleasant day. But he tries to shake that feeling away, knowing that he is no fortune teller, he knows not what the future holds in store for him this day.
Still, the feeling never leaves. The Dreamer is awake, and he feels the weight of the world upon his shoulders, even though he knows there isn't that much of a weight there after all - he's a Dreamer, and he's got a lot of imaginary problems....feelings, such negative feelings. But, he's keen to keep the promise he made on the break of a new year, yet another one. He promised himself.
But such promises are short-lived or are rumored to be so....he knows that. There is no real pain here. No real loss. And yet he lingers there, thinking. Dreaming. Snapping out of it for a moment, he proceeds to leave. There is a whole workday to be fulfilled, there are things to do, people to see, classes to attend to.
But as the bus carries him away, he quietly sits on his backseat, listening to his old tunes. The random selection created today seems to fit his tastes, seems to feed his unrest. He's restless today and he knows it. Instead of fighting it, he just let the dreams roll. He's a Dreamer. He knows where the secret lies. Where is the key to all that's sacred to him...to all that's pure.
So he sleepwalks around. He doesn't fight it; he wants to escape to his dreamland, to his ideal place, his idyllic rolling plains and endless, calm fields. Even though he knows...the further he ventures into his realm, the more difficult it gets to get out of such a place. The plains turn into marshlands, the fields becomes endless and treacherous bogs.
So he awakes once again, just in time to get out of the bus and face all the nameless faces around him on the street. Faces that mean nothing to him, and only adds more to the sense of despair that keep on following him today. He's got to live, he's got to find a reason. He's got somewhere to go, somewhere to be. But...He finds it nowhere. Not on this plane. Not on this realm, the real world.
But he knows it isn't possible to live in his Dreamland. He knows it.
So he strives to keep himself awake, and shake the awkward feeling away. He struggles to find that reason, that place, that person, whatever it is, that will keep him awake. That will bring the dream into the real world.
Is there such a thing? He doesn't know. And as he walks away, to another working day, we all get to see him dreaming as he walks, dreaming as he talks, sleeping as he's walking. Dreaming.
The Dreamer is awake, but at the same time, he isn't.
He only hopes for the best, he hopes that he'll find a friend today, someone to talk to, someone to share this bullshit with. He sits around and sips his coffee. He types his texts into his computer, and awaits. Until the day is done, what will happen to the Dreamer?
What will happen to someone that does not live here....even though he's always around?
What will happen to someone who know he's always wrong, even though he feels rightful to proclaim he's right?
The Dreamer awaits. And dreams around. Writes the dreams into secret files, secret stories that may never see the light of the day or meet the irises of unknown eyes. He dreams...but he tries to remain awake. He tries to stay with us. With the real world, the real people. Everything scares him, but he's managed to cope somehow. He's managed to stay awake, even though he's not here at all. The dreamland is a very solitary space, but is the safest of all places.
No-one will catch you there. No one will hurt you.
No one will ever see you.
No one will hear your wild music that burns inside, the truest of them all songs; all the crazy stories that will never, ever face the light of day. Never, ever.
No one knows you there....and yet you know everyone who's there. All you've ever created, all you've ever cared for. All that nonsense. Pain. Love. Value. Honor. A true heart.
None of this makes sense in the real world.
Shake it, shake it all away. He's still here, typing these words, this nonsense. He's got work to do. People to see. Classes to attend to.
He sighs, and awaits. He knows this is just a bad day, and it will go away...some day. For now, he just dream on. It's all he's got. It's all that makes sense to this nonsense head, to this frail mind.
He's the Dreamer. He dreams away.
