The other night for the first time in a long while I had a dream where I was going to England. This usually takes the form of being in a strange airport. These dreams fit with me because they are so vivid, partially because I know when I'm able to actually make this happen, I capture everything in my brain vividly.
My programming knows this is important to me, so I get little treats from the past. These days it is impractical for me to think about going on such a trip.
So what I have instead is to watch Premiership matches on television while I work. I'm pivoting back to seven days a week of work after a failed attempt to be more normal, be more human. I'm not. I'm something different and it would be better if I just live in my dreams, in the middle space between reality and fantasy.
Yet last night I dreamt about the phantom and the phantom's family and none of it was real but there were elements of interest that would be interesting to share.
Turns out, some people don't want to hear of other's dreams. I should really reinforce the message in my head that attraction to someone shouldn't be welcomed. It would be better to re-cauterize the heart in order to stay true to the pathway in front of me.
I see the faces in the stands at wherever Tottenham plays and I wonder who they are and wonder what kind of conversation we would have. Each is a person selected at random to fill time and place those of us at home in a different location.
I am aware that there was a small period where my life was in bloom again. Now the leaves are falling and the chill is in the air and I remember how solitude is the right choice and how desire for companionship must be drowned in the ocean of lies from which the idea spawns.
Dreams are enough for me to feel alive.
And I've spent the last hour or so re-arranging things to find this song which says it better than I can.
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