The bubble

Suggested soundtrack:

Out of the blue happiness was defined as singing along together to Wagon Wheel, to take a bath, to watch someone make carbonara, and to hold someone’s hand without worry of notice. Radagast came for a visit. What was intended as another distraction from life as I know it, I found myself in that incredible intimacy when another person is comfortable enough to even tell you when you hurt their feelings. When you are in that bubble even fighting is easy. Because as the heart is ripped out it it’s not to be removed but to be put back in the right place. And Radagast left.

With the exception of an abandoned toothbrush, my apartment is as it was before. I am the same as I was before. Nothing has changed. The champagne bubble passed and like a drunken stupor it left me, not hungover, but quite awake once again. In truth, I do not know how I feel about it. For a few days I was once again embedded in the Illusion. That joy and glory that is never part of ourselves but part of our environment, of our setting, of the scene. And like at a theater the curtain call leaves everything still. Yet, there are no applauses, no reviews complaining about the poor performance of the actors, there is no “good work, you really nailed it this time!”. Only silence. Remaining is the uncertainty of an encore, for a chance that the bubble has not burst.

Tonight I woke up after dreams of . It came as a surprise due to distance between us that is no longer only space but time. Establish is that “time is a bitch, and space her abusive husband” Death Row Relationships. Maybe dreaims means nothing. Maybe they reveal underlying secret desires. Maybe they force us to confront all the uncomfortable thoughts we avert in moments awake. Maybe I am moving on, not as a misdirected distraction but as a unavoidable consequence of the echoing nothingness.

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