Again and again I awaken into the same dream...
A round room with enormous crystal walls. Every wall is a mirror, window, prism - depending on which angle you look at it through.
The walls stretch on up and down and sideways in a way that seems almost infinite. I hover in midair between these walls, observing the hypnotizing play of colors formed by passage of light through them - lights refracting, reflecting, creating vague images of color and shape. I look outside. Through every wall an entirely different view is seen - in one color and yet in all colors. At every point I see myself, and yet not myself. How long have I been trapped within this illusion already? Doesn't seem like time has meaning here... Doesn't seem like anything has meaning here. Mirrors within mirrors, reflections within reflections. What the hell are they trying to tell me?
A brilliant panorama of memories covers the walls, lights and shadows coalescing into clearer forms. And I see. I see myself as I see myself in my best dreams - free as the wind, wings spread, happier than anything else... Like before, or like what may happen at some point. And yet, simultaneously, I see myself the way I am today - suffereing from mental and emotional overload, without inspiration, drained of internal energies, trapped within a seemingly endless loop. Broken wings, attempting to heal without much success. The dreams. A sillhouette of someone that has been and gone, and still her presense lurks there and refuses to let go of its grip on my head - which is something that isn't particuarily helpful for the accursed loneliness that is gradually consuming me for almost two months now, ever since she dramatically walked out of my life and left me in this state.
When I'm not busy with something better, the smallest thing spark memories within me. Those wonderful memories that became unbearable - memories, which the endless presence of in my head makes me miss things that shall never happen again even more. I am surrounded by shadows of things that have been, things that haven't been, and things that may yet to come.
The memories charge at me. A play of light and colour again, light so beautiful, so bright that it burns me. And there is no escape. Light reflects and refracts all over. Doubts, anxieties, dark undertones shattering the illusion of bright light, fading into gray...
Too much for me.
I lunge at the walls, attempting to break them - shatter them to fragments, clear out my brain and begin anew. But the walls aren't truly there. I don't collide against anything real. Nothing that may cause pain as a result of collision. Yet the walls quiver as if they were made out of Jell-O, and the game of colors changes - relaxing, for the time being. I curl up in a thin layer of vague dream-reality that has emerged from the mist, surrounding myself in things that make me feel better, until, at least, the next outburst.
I awaken, wondering when will this blasted bubble burst already - when will I be able to completely release myself from these memories that drain me so much so I could find the balance yet again and find a source for newer, better memories.
And also, what will happen to me when it does burst. Because I truly am weary of chasing dreams.