Where We Left The Body

Those beloved voices were always the guiding force alongside our gathering. The echoes would invade my mind, and would soon be repeated against my lips, stories sounded out in the waking hours, longing for the chance to see the light of day once again. They would come to compete with one another for the attention we so desire, to be set out on our canvas for all of you to silently judge. Harbingers of restlessness they would be; these voices, tributes to each and all, our lasting impressions of those moments, the people and our most base desires that have shaped this disaster we have become.

There is an unrelenting pressure in my chest these days, like a dreamscape where the feelings are impossibly real, where emotion is overwhelming and far more intense than what can be experienced in the mundane routine that now surrounds us. There has to be something else that we are missing out on, out there on that last frontier, some great adventure that we haven’t even dreamt of before. Impress me with your wilds; show me the sights and sounds of a world that I haven’t been witness to before. It has been years since I have felt the glow that once was my great addiction.

Five years had come to pass. The man who you once knew that had started this confessional with fantastical delusions of grandeur would have been proud of where the protagonist could be found today. The shallow, sunken appearance, reflected in perfection, the attention to the most precise detail, the disconnect from those around me.

I am living someone else’s dream.

The path we chose to obtain this desired endgame proved to be far more important that the idea itself. The adventure would come to warp all sense of responsibility and civility; it would create a monster of egotistical selfishness, longing for that next great glow. You were once a hero, admired for your thoughtfulness, courage, valiance. No one would confuse you with that title today; the old guard had come to pass, and a malaise of indifference had set in.

The body stayed the course, never wavering in that idea set out lifetimes ago. The mind wandered to places you would each fear to tread. The body, focused and driven, carrying on the tradition of who we are and who we are meant to be. The mind, illusory in each wisp of the imagination, fighting its own great battle of evermore, for who we are and what we could be. We are not one of them, but we desperately seek their approval, their acceptance and patience. Mistakes have been made along this path, hide them in an insecurity that rivals that of the glow. Lose them all in that unmistakable charm, sadistic in reliance, overwhelming in its continued perfection. The mind wanders on to all possibilities, while the body follows its own Bolero orchestrate, onwards to that day then.

Beneath that perception, that cold solitary purpose, the voices carry on, they speak to me clearly now, fighting to be heard. My friends, I’m listening. Come to me in the waves she had spoken with, as on the blessing way we find ourselves once again, forever forgotten in a sea of make believe.