You say I should be wide awake;
But I tell you that I’m half asleep.
You never seem to realize
What it is I really mean.

My mind is in a daze;
My days pass in a haze.
My eyelids are a veil between
What’s behind them, and this place.

You insist that anything
More than eight hours is a luxury.
Who am I to disagree?
But it doesn’t mean a thing to me.

Days and nights are just the same;
In the gray they went and there they came.
And when the gray is all I’ve ever seen,
What’s that mean for my weary brain?

You tell me to get over it;
To go and drink some coffee.
But I feel as if I’m dreaming it…
And my eyelids grow so very heavy.

7 thoughts on “Phantasmagoria

  1. Suppose, Rachel,, just to keep the conversation going, something comes along that scintillates and sends the pulse aloft. Would you recognize it?

    Perhaps not, though I think you would. After all, you note the current doldrums because, in part, they contrast with the sparkle you know is out there. Which even thrilled you once?

    Naturally, that isn’t where the ride is stuck at the moment. Where it seems to have been stuck forever. Yet, you’re here, still curious, still analyzing the world around you. You still search for that spark. Despite all of…this.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “Muddy” it, modify it – same thing.

    We (and, yes, I chose pronouns carefully. By “we” I don’t mean “you”) let perfection obsess us, Rachel. It’s only natural, as we are aspirational creatures.

    Still, that perfection doesn’t quite fit, does it? It reflects someone else’s ideals and priorities. While our vision may share the same broad contours, each is unique, needing only our touch to warm it, to “muddy” it, to make it our own

    Think back to when you were six. There likely was that one toy you desired above all others. If only it could be yours, you’d be the happiest child on the planet. Now, though? Not so much.

    Does that mean the toy is any less brilliant, or have you changed, and rearranged your priorities? So it is with the dreams we chase. We’re different from the person who imagined the perfection. Naturally, some muddying is in order..

    Liked by 1 person

    1. But that’s the problem: If we’re always changing, nothing we have will ever be perfect. Even if we adapt it to who we are now — if who we are shifts, then it was for naught. Unless we change it again; but then we soon face the same exact problem. Our human aspirations seem never content, and it seems bent on making us miserable.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. The one constant as life shifts (as it always does) is happiness.

        What, exactly, makes us happy will change, always and always, but the satisfaction constantly is there for us to pursue.

        You’re not always going to be happy with the exact same thing. Our circumstances reform and so too do our goals.

        Liked by 1 person

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