Inexistence isn't a word.
In my dreams I moved tonight. From the sea to the land, from the land to the city, from the city to the mountain… with every move, for a very short moment, I forgot my past and temporarily ceased to think of the future. But the bliss of the deception of belonging did not last long or I found myself somewhere far away again.
Everywhere I went, I was with different people. Things I did want to see, things I didn't want to see. In my dreams I left each place like an abandoned lover, and left an abandoned lover in each place. With every move I broke my own heart over and over, but it came naturally. And each time I blinked to find myself confronted with a love and a hate, taken different forms, facing me. And each time I loved, and I hated, blindly. I held and I yelled. But every time hate became peace and love became comfort, I found myself walking away without a glance over my shoulder.
It's like living in a mist of inexistence. Reaching for what you know is not there. Am I running to or from, I don't know. In search of reality I find myself in a constant state of disassociation from it. Half my mind endlessly preoccupied with dreamily reminiscing, soaking in nostalgia. Raking my mind of memories, memories, memories, the never receding melancholic mist hanging over my life. The other half of my mind tirelessly obsessed with dreaming of all the places I haven't been, people I haven't met, things I haven't done, and seen. Torturing me with longing, by default, for that which I do not have and cannot have.
One leg firmly rooted in the memories of my past, and the other in the dreams of my future. And I guess I'm pissing on myself today