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Dreamy Memories Are Our Pages
Somehow I faded into this place. How?
Believe me, you're guess is as good, if not better than mine.
My name? No idea. In fact, I can't remember what a name is. What are they for? What does age matter? Or skin color, or hair color, or the appearance of someone's eyes, or height, or strength... Why does it matter? Right now, of course, non of those things exist.
I guess the view is a little foggy, so perhaps you want some clarification as to where we are. Are maybe it's just me that's here. Maybe i really am alone. Who's to say? We are the creators of our evanescent lives.
We are in a room. But it's very much unlike any other room I've seen before. It's a Wonderland Room. At the bottom of a dark pit. If you look up you'll see what I mean. The cylinder that forms the walls dives up and up into the pitchy, star spangled sky. They are white walls. We are never leaving this room.
There are doors all around our walls. Every kind of door I've ever seen. There's a reddish purple one, a front door. There's a big metal one too. Each one looks full of promises, but I can promise you that they are lying. Just like they were when They promised they would never open for him.
This place is nothing to brag about, but it's not to shabby. I have a bed, and a table, with a beautifully patterned rug. I have shelves and shelves of books. You're welcome to look through them, they're all rather good. Actually, I'm thinking of adding another one to the collection. Would you like to hear it?
It started in this room, just like every morning does, with fresh food on my table and a new sky above my bed. As i got up, They gave me news. They don't usual talk, unless it's something very important. Like telling you there's a new room for you, or that They're going to kill you. But this time They spoke to me, it was completely different. They said i had a visitor. Before i had time to react he was sent in. I'd seen him before, but i couldn't place him. His dark curls were hauntingly familiar, and I was sure I'd seen his brown eyes before.
They told me i could keep him. That he was mine, and i was his. They said he could stay, like in all those other books. And i believed them.
But soon, after he'd really become mine, after we'd laughed, and cried...he left. They claimed it wasn't Them, but They control everything in the situation. And sure maybe they didn't drag him out, but the fact that those doors opened for him when he turned his back on my screaming and crying, and hurting, when they never would for me--they knew he would leave. They wanted it that way. I don't remember what even started all the human like behavior-all the fighting-but i'm sure it's Their fault. Everything is.
Like i said, we are the creators of our pointless, ephemeral lives. Maybe we used to matter, but here, in this place, never. What we live, what we fight for can be ripped from our clutch. But sometimes it's what we're holding on to that pulls it's self away, and walks off with no looking back.