From the Pocket of a Dream
Inside the messy web of her thoughts has always lived a strange, curious spider.
It used to lie in wait, asking questions, spinning the darkest threads from the
yarn of sorrows just to let them haunt her later, enjoying her confusions,
while it sat safely, unreachable in its own secret corner.
She is there again. At her favourite spot. In the depth of her beloved forest. Sometimes she is not sure if that’s a real place or just another imagination. Her foolish mind loved to trick her by projecting the unknown pictures behind her eyes. She could almost swear that they were real although they only appeared as pieces of someone’s broken memory. Someone’s lifetime?
What does it mean to be forgotten?- asked the spider, interrupting her peace –
To be alone, vulnerable, lost? Or more? Does it mean remembering the past?
A past that actually never happened yet it feels so painfully present in her mind
as a live vision, as a memory. Does that mean to be exposed to the winds of life, meeting them in solitude, quietly, with not even relieving screams? Viewing nothing but an unpleasent, odd road ahead, a journey to the obscure future.
Does that mean to simply go away, disappear from this dusty stage called life?
The wind up there among the branches caressed the leaves gently whispering through the treetops. To be forgotten. Her mind went on with weaving the inquiry. Does that mean leaving, or perhaps something totally oposite? To be forgotten maybe means coming back.
© Eclipse 2008 – 2011
Shared on Thursday Tales
Image by Deviant Art