An Illusion of LOVE...

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 03:23:36 +0200

"Diseases desperate grown
But desperate appliance are reliev'd
Or not at all."

An excerpt (modified):

The knuckles of my hand are stiff.
I must drop the pencil occasionallyand rub them warm. Allthe bones of my body ache dully and it occurs to me that even the dread of death is a subjectively relative thing, welcomed as often as not by the poor and ailing while the rich and pleasured tremble at its mention.

The thought brings a smile to mu dry lips. But the simle fades as I once again face the vacant page with a resharpened pencil. The white-ruled paper is ragged at the top of the table testifying ti the ripped out pages of a dozen aborted things.

The problem is that there is no beginning - no REAL, TRUE BEGINNING. Not a concrete fixed point in time labeled with fixed dated events to proceed from - thus, I don't know how it would end.

So I must put it down as one narrates a dream, a picking up at a point whose only qualification is taht it is a clearly remembered moment, andd then relate from there.

A LOST MOMENT. Not a chance that it will ever come again.

The story is BUT a bream turned nightmare, so I will begin with a dream, that I can still remember... A dream that I can still feel... Only a dream, that is, FAR FROM REALITY.

A face.

A young man's face. Good-looking and with a radiant smile, cast before the silhouette ambiance of a room. Bowing down to give me my "good morning" kiss on my forehead. Crow black, incongruously healthy, newly-cut hair matches the enormous glow of his eyes. Such a wonderful sight to behold in an earliest hour of the day!

The sweet curve of lips that formed in his parted mouth only to reveal that too-perfect teeth of dentures. A voice filtered through the wave of the air, ordering me to get up and start a new day with him.

Then, he said, "come with me!"

I still feel sleepy to rise but he insisted and again he said "take my hand".
I sat back up and reached my hand out to him and with a shudder, I saw my hand pass through his own.

The vision in my memory slowly fades away. The last thing I remembered is his saying "goodbye".

Goodbye? For what?

What had happened? I could not fathom.

What has ended? I could not imagine.

Goodbye means the end, isn't it not? What is the ending? I don't know.

What had happened is the creation of my imagination.
AN ILLUSION OF LOVE! Traumatic, yet, I daresay - WORTH!!

But, alas! It wasn't real!

IT IS ALL A DREAM!!!:'(

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An Illusion of LOVE...

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 03:01:41 +0200

:oops: "Diseases desperate grown But desperate appliance are reliev'd Or not at all." An excerpt (modified): The knuckles of my hand are stiff. I must drop the pencil occasionallyand rub them warm. Allthe bones of my body ache dully and it occurs to me that even the dread of death is a subjectively relative thing, welcomed as often as not by the poor and ailing while the rich and pleasured tremble at its mention. The thought brings a smile to mu dry lips. But the simle fades a

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