Sundown reverie: Whispered Dreams

Today will never be like any other, same as every day.  

I guess I don't see that.  

Well, maybe one day. 

When everything is over.  

I will finally see that. 

The first walk through the garden will never be the same as the last. In this ever-lying theatre, the keeper of the lost and harbinger of the untold, wields its scythe of equity. Where the blooms of the old gracefully sink to the forgotten, embraced and made to new life. Here where you walk along a path of an eternity that enchants dead blooms. Seeing something that you only see once. 

The leaves of creation: The start of something, an endless tree that stretches far beyond your possibilities, things you will never be capable of. Each leaf, having a chance to grow, a small side story that contributes ever so slightly. But look at leaves, scattered on the floor, no longer apart of this cycle, speaking uncertainty and unfulfillment, the inevitable change. Paths left untouched, stories left untold. 

Petals of chance: Look at it now, look close enough and you will see before, a precise calculation for something but to you just a chance. Like a coin flip. The world beyond the garden, chance filters the fundamentals of life, but there is hidden order in the petals of pattern and no pattern, they convince us to look amongst chaos and find the almost completely controlled meaning in the apparently arbitrary.  

Thorns of reflection: A touch triggers a silent scarlet stream. They built to shield, like a fabric designed to cover, something insignificant to us. To indulge one must embrace their agony as a gift. Grab it tightly, endure it, for the blood shed today is a gift for tomorrow. 

 The picked flower: It lovely how things are only beautiful when they are delicately removed from their earthly dwelling, only then may we be able to observe its ever so glory and the lines they wrote in their narrative. In this moment, where their eternity uncovers itself like a secret at last being disclosed. All secrets are told. Its only then in this moment of revelation, you understand that these instances of beauty are momentary, just like the bloom of the flower, for it is already fading away into the grasp of time. 

 Funny enough you will never find this flower. The flower you, no that we are looking for when you once entered. As your poisoned by other speculations, your trapped in here, till it's over, only when released, the flower already died. 

The experience no different from the first time, your last one was, what you wanted wasn’t there. No different at all. Just that it ended. 

Summer is about to end. 

“Hey Tom” 

“Yes Jane?” I replied. 

“First time seeing Sunsets?” 

“Second.” 

“When was the first?” 

“First day of summer.” 

“Well todays the last day of summer,” Jane smiled, “Can't wait for autumn, autumn's so pretty.” 

“So was Summer.” 

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Gosh I wouldn’t mind if summer went a bit longer”. 

“Maybe next year.”  

“Yeah, will you be here again, next year same time?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope. 

“Always,” I replied. 

Personally, sunsets don’t have place in me. They are like closing curtains. Your eye mesmerised by the sun, gracefully descending into the darkness, you realise how much of today really was, as if time pulled back the curtain, uncovering the moments that were there. There today. Uncounted, unnoticed and after this moment forgotten. 

It’s an interesting feeling, that we realize our own ignorance. What’s even more stumping is our tendency to recognize these issues, to accept that a need for change must occur. So, we don’t lose this time given. Yet we find ourselves trapped in this paradox. Initiation, near impossible. Reason: an invisible influence. 

Its only when you see fading light of a sunset. The sky once with vivid bright red colours expanding across the world, rather now appearing to have spots, and burst of muted shades. The blazing sphere now tired, nothing but a fading orb, only traces of its feeble rays upon this world. Its decent slow, deliberate like a soldier unwilling to leave for war. A reluctant farewell, its shallow rays painting the clouds with darker reds, soon to be purples. You start to consider the complexity of your actions and you wonder if there’s something deep within. Multifaced character, with a hunger that overrides the best ideas, goals, shoving you down a different path. A hunger of emotional pull that slows you down and eventually stopping you altogether. 

As the sun dipped into the waters of the horizon, I held my breath. Not wanting to let go. Linger on forever I thought. Time itself in this essence also paused, seconds, minutes and hours came to a silence. An eternal moment of contemplation seemed to be granted by the universe itself. 

In that suspended moment, everything froze. The leaves hung motionless, no longer dancing, the petals hovered, stopped in mid-air like snowflakes turned to icicles, the thorns stood frozen in their tragic beauty. Their sharp edges together gleaming like broken mirrors. As we marvelled at this pause, the sun as if answering the nightly calls I made. Rose. reversing reality and this tranquillity. Almost as if granting me a second chance. As the sun climbed, the shadows melted away, revealing the details I missed, the world bathed by its radiant light. The horizon once again meeting with the sky. A world reborn. Like a phoenix. It painted sky with fiery reds and shades of pink that whispered the remnants of flowering roses. The picked flower once lost, stood before me no longer shattered by time, but alive.  

"Pfftt."

I laughed, I haven’t laughed in a while, it hurts my cheeks, a soreness of the unused muscles. I laughed again. Laughter that was uncontrolled, unrestrained, soared into the heavens expanding through the skies. As if the universe heard, the stars above joined in an orchestrated chorus of laughter. The skies would never drop a cent for anyone. I laughed, oh how it's nice when your eyes lie, people are rather good at dreaming.

This pause of time shattered, flower gone with the flicker of the wind. I was reawakened to this reality. The skies vibrant of colours of my imagination had darkened into an abyss pierced by only the fragmented glistens of stars. A reminder of the contrast between desirable dreams and reality. 

In that moment of reverie to reality I couldn’t help but ponder about the thought of dreams. A dream is nice occasionally; some people dream all the time. Some picture their dreams.

I've had the same dream every night for a long, long time. 

Summers over, and I'll wait until next summer and the summer after that, for this realm of slumber to come to an end.