Lost

As a child, I had one particular dream more times than I could count. It started long before I can remember. I’d always had this dream. It was black — dark and infinite — I couldn’t tell if I was still or moving or falling. There were images of white: I’m not sure what. They simply fly past me. I could hear my heart beating. Louder and louder.

But it wasn’t the darkness or the images or the heart beat that I focussed on. No, there was a particular feeling. Not an physical feeling, but a real, emotional feeling. It was all I could think of.

I think I finally understand that dream. Those feelings.

I have lost something, and I feel those images, those daemons, flying past me again in the darkness. I understand them, and that they have always been a part of me, waiting to return. Now that they’re here, they are again eclipsed by a feeling. A certainty of loss and absence.

My childhood dream has become real, and I find myself wishing that I could just wake up.

-- The Lost Realm --

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我站在河岸边被树丛隔离想念着你