It’s always the same dream.

The same white space.

The same white tiles.

And nothing else in sight.

It the middle, lies a girl; curled up in a ball, shivering, pale and naked, like a wilted flower left to stain that gleaming white floor.

I’m standing there, watching as always; as silent as a ghost, doing nothing but staring.

My heart aches at the sight.

It cries along with the ashen tear stained face of the child.

And so, I try to reach out.

But nothing happens as my arm goes right through.

It’s always the same dream.

Me watching me.

Knowing exactly who it is I am staring at, yet being able to do nothing else but only that.

Tonight, my dream shape shifts for the first time.

I realise it’s not a room of infinite distance anymore.

I’m in a room lit by some hidden white light that reflects the tiles as if they were luminous.

The strange thing is,

It isn’t really a room.

It’s a transparent white cube.

I’m now hovering over it.

Staring down at the shrinking figure in the middle.

Just staring, staring and staring as usual.

Except…

In an unusual turn of events, the girl suddenly trembles harder than usual.

And I watch as she finally moves from her position on the floor.

She’s crying for real this time.

The tears are streaming down her face like I’ve never seen before.

She pulls herself to one side of the wall and on her knees, she starts banging on the walls; calling out to someone, someone who can’t hear her or even see her. Who, it makes me wonder for I see nothing but a floating cube in a dark expanse of space.

Her voice is coarse, she’s choking on her own words.

And the pale white skin of her fists.

They are not longer white, but red and sore from her constant banging.

And then I see it.

There you lay, fast asleep and smiling in our bed. You’re covered comfortable in our sheets, oblivious to the realisation that nobody is lying next to you any longer.

But there she is, just inches from your face.

Screaming, crying, banging on the walls; trying to get your attention;

Only you can’t see her.

And then i wake,

And tears are streaming down my face.

And like my dream,

I am staring at you,

But you don’t see me.

Sometimes we know the truth clearer than anyone else.

We listen to the words of others, the stories of others but in our heart we sense it perfectly well. Yet, day after day, we continue to live in denial of ourself and the characters that make up this awkward play of what one calls life.

Today i ached.

And a switch snapped inside.

But as twisted as fate would have it, what i desire most right now becomes unachievable without real sacrifice.

I just want to take my cat and go home.

But I can’t can I?

Am i here because of you?

Or because i don’t have the heart to abandon the one living being that continues to stay by my side and listens day in day out to my whimpers and dreams.

I hate this.

I hate how things have turned out.

And I don’t know what hope is or see joy in my glitter, rainbows and unicorns anymore.

Is this what you wanted?

To break the hopeful faith of a naive child who believed in love.

Or are you really so blinded to be unable to see.

There is no sparkle in my eyes.

There is no glow to my skin.

I am dying right in front of your eyes.

But do you even see it?

“When was the last time you spent a full 24 hours with me” I asked.

a silence reverberated through the room before a minuscule list of random days from the past weeks shot out.

“No. You had meetings…I wasn’t around…and the list goes on. You can’t even remember anymore can you?”

“Silence”

“Silence”

“Are you lonely?” he muttered before i felt the warm palm of his hands quiver as he fell asleep.

And then it struck me.

Is that it? Is that what it was all about?

Was I really lonely?

Or is it something else?

Can you feel lonely in a home where you never sleep alone?

Or is it the sort of loneliness that differs from just being around people.

I don’t know.

And I can’t tell.

But I’ve not smiled properly in quite a while.

There is really no purpose to this post.

No function, no point, nada!

But i just felt like blogging about nothing.

Because today feel’s like a nothing day.

So what is a nothing day?

Well, a nothing day is a day like today.

Where i feel like doing nothing and blogging about nothing.

Actually.

I was going to blog about my latest addiction. Home made marshmallows.

Except class ended early on the day I decided to show up for class and I am incredibly early for my lunch appointment and was afraid that if I went home and sleep I would refuse to come out again (much like what often happens. so don’t let me do that if I’m about to meet you). AND SO, I am sitting at Coffee Societe in Publika, completely monopolizing my buddy’s laptop, which, would obviously not contain any pictures of those heavenly yummy marshmallows i have procured from the brand that I am going to later introduce to you. Which would make all the sense in the world to blog about nothing and nonsensical nothings such as this rather than a post with no pictures to illustrate the fluffy joys of healthy full of flavour home made marshmallows.

Yes.

Today.

Is a nothing day.

And this is a nothing post.

And you have just wasted 5 minutes of your life reading about nothing in particular. Except it’s not really nothing because nothing is something but is still really nothing.

I’m so funny sometimes,

I could make you cry.

Yes.

Good bye.

Lie beneath pale white ceiling and stare, stare straight up into nothing but the slow moving blades of the fan switched on at one.

How do you feel?

What do you feel?

It’s an eerie kind of moment as the silence of the house becomes a ringing sound that reverberates through your entire being. You pick up noises you normally never notice and it feels as if you were listening to time itself move in it’s unwavering way. Time is moving, time keeps moving but for some reason you’re not.

It isn’t a type of boredom. It isn’t even close.

This level of melancholia serves no purpose. It comes and it goes as it pleases.

Tilt your head a little to the side.

And then notice how the room feels like it’s beginning to shrink. Caving into you in a strange distorted movement that causes not fear, but strangely, a calm sort of acceptance.

The shadows are dancing, they dance a slow languid dance as you spy from the corners of your eyes.

You blink.

And then all you hear is your raspy breathing, stifled and dry.