Flameless

Dreaming is indeed a dissociative experience where one is outside of their consciousness. I love to dream. In fact, I do it outside of the sleeping realm. I dream every second of the day, pondering and fixating on what things could’ve been like. I often wonder about the dreams I could’ve pursued as a young adult. But alas, as I sit by the warm, homely fire that I had tended to earlier this evening, I realize my age has affected my dreams. If only I could hop into a time machine and revisit my youth, I would change every aspect of my decisions. Reminiscing of my younger days makes me yearn for the electrified hope I once had. Not knowing what or how things might change at any second. The possibilities were endless and the very thought that I could make no mistake to my future was ignorance at its finest. I was oblivious to reality, and naive to time and how it was fleeting from my fingertips. 

I believe there was a time I was truly happy with life. That was when I had fallen in love. Yes I know, the usual cliche, head over heels, can’t eat, can’t sleep kind of love. But the experience was unlike anything else. Watching this person, spending every second with this person really made me feel something. I had it all in the palm of my hands. The opportunity to start something meaningful, something magical. This person had so much faith in me, they knew my past demons that I had been fighting with, but they believed I was worth something. The worst thing is, I believed them. I tried so feverishly to make things work, to give everything I had. This new love was my hope, my destiny and I was determined not to let it slip away. 

Within a few short months, we were married. The honeymoon, the new house, the new dog, it was all I ever wanted. I couldn’t believe I had made this a reality. It was like I was constantly floating and I believed that nothing would ever bring me back down. How foolish I was to believe that lie, because the person I had longed for, sacrificed for, yearned to be there for had left this world leaving me behind to pick up the pieces. I had nothing left. The very purpose of my life had left me. The spark I was given to ignite my dreams were gone, vanished. How cruel the universe was, to give me something so beautiful and delicate and then rip it away from me in a blink of an eye. I spent night after night reeling in grief, wondering how I was going to survive without the light in my life to console me. My dreams were gone. The life that was inside of me had died. How tragic it was, and there was no pity to be granted. I had no one. After years of fighting battles with myself and trying so hard to become something, I was back to rock bottom. The emptiness had slowly started to creep back in. I could feel the weight begin to get heavier on my chest and the temptation to numb the pain was intolerable. I fell hard onto the ground, reality hitting me hard so hard I was knocked unconscious. Thus, setting the new age. I was no longer dreaming, no longer yearning to be exhilarated for new hope. I was intoxicated by the grief and the empty hopelessness I had been running from for years. 

How tragic and mournful my life was. All I wanted was a success, a reason for living, a purpose to this miserable cascade. Watching everyone else live carefree with painted faces and misleading stories made me resentful. How come they were given such joyous fulfillment and I was given a broken heart? I was dealt the worst hand, and the cards were never in my favor.

  After years of anger and refusing to revisit the happy memories of our former home, I settled into a small house located in a quiet neighborhood. Even though I tried to escape the pain, it was as if it was chaining me down like a cold hard felon. It wrapped me in anger and kept me in the prison of my own mind. The numbness I longed for was not big enough to fill the emptiness. It prowled silently in the darkness, waiting and watching like my very own shadow.  

So here I sit, in front of the fireplace that I had so carefully tended to, watching the flames soak the air and hungrily engorge itself until it can’t burn any longer. Its disregard of objects around it creates the purpose of its containment and reminds me of how my own life is this very metaphor. The flames that I held inside of me so badly wanted to engulf everything in its path. The burning was ruthless and very much dangerous, especially to the ones I loved. The substances I contained were merciless and destroyed the very spirit within me. I tried to put it out but I could not contain the raging hunger for air, for feeling, yet for a quick numbness. It consumed me and left me with nothing but cold ashes. The embers that were leftover, quietly simmered in the darkness, waiting for the opportunity to reignite once again. Much like the people I destroyed, the flames never returned. I was empty. And as I sit here in this old lonely house, I watch the fire die as well as the yearning for a reset to my decisions, a longing for the chance to reignite the flames to my youth. The dreams I was so hopeful for a few decades ago, were no longer burning. I was flameless. A mere ember in a suffocated stove. As I lay my head down on the sofa, I do get a sort of excitement, because when I close my eyes and let my mind fade away, I can once again relight the fire, and dream my bitter reality away.