I have just been looking at feathers in my hand, for the longest time; all of them scattering now and getting lost from each other in this rare wind that had began to pick up speed and strength a minute ago, or it could be hours. Weeks, perhaps. I have feeling that it has been weeks. I cannot begin to move and strangely the ground has grown to be comfortable. I tried to be close to the sun, and even armed with the foreknowledge I flew high enough and the reality of distance took over and so I fell, and gravity embraced me like a long lost lover. I hurt all over, and I still get to wonder why I have still haven't crumbled along with the feathers in this breeze. The feeling of sedation had set in except for some parts where the hurt just got all concentrated. I have to close my eyes in a few moments, in this pain without release.
The feathers were gone the next time I opened my eyes and my mind now is on fast forward, going to Friday, imagining things about this coming Friday. I will be walking again; walking on old, different streets that I haven't seen for some time. It is just Tuesday, and it seems forever in between. But I still have to live even if it maybe a mere reflection, I only have to be somewhere for sometime in order to do that and not look at the sun for sometime, not to look and remind myself of the futility of her distance despite the very warmth. I haven't slept in a month, perhaps Friday might be a little less cruel and allow me some, perhaps even throw in a three-minute dream of the sun and her possibilities.
because dreams, dreams, they aren't born of reason.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
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