Aida Zabidi
I came because of the force of habit, but as the door opened, and he looked at me with bloodshot eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, I backed away, apologies falling from my lips, backpedalling in an attempt that seemed incongruously out of place for such an innocent gesture.

I was unsettled by this break in routine, but perhaps was merely that particular night, closeted in the silence of the hall, where darkness seemed to swallow my sense of self, leaving questions in its wake.

As I walked down the dim hallway, the sense of loss struck me.

What had previously been something intangible had, through our thoughts and dreams, consolidated somewhat; this idea of being, one which I could almost touch, and taste, and breathe, and I stood there alone in the confines of my room, hating the insecurities that gushed out from within like the overflow of water from a well, as the idea slowly seemed to unravel at the seams.

The darkness seemed symbolic, and I walked past the row of doors in a dreamlike state, and suddenly I was aroused from my dream, and I could not bear the darkness, couldn’t bear the way it seemed to crush the light from my soul, or perhaps it was the echoes of this bleakness that I felt.

And I dreamt of her, “Come to me tonight,” she implored, and I could feel her warmth surround me as if she herself was lying next to me, “Come to me, for I need you,” and I could taste the urgency in her words, and even in my dreams I wanted to rush to her side, and comfort her with my words.

And I dreamt of him, “You need me. I am the link of a life that you have left behind. I am the bridge to your past, to experiences that have made you who you are – I am you, and you are me, and we are together,” and my dream self was confused, warring between the two worlds that should not had somehow overlapped into these boundaries, worlds that perhaps, should naturally intersect somehow, but the dreams eluded me and the edges refused to match up, dancing crazily out of my grasp as I tried to pull the seams together.

“You made me as I am,“ said she.

“Your actions will make me,” said he.

Ah, the crushing blow of responsibility. I have been running away from it all this while. Or perhaps, it is this creature of habit I have become, where deviation away from things that I have become accustomed to, this digression has caused my disconcertedness.

“You have made me who I am,” my reflection told me.

I cannot run away from myself. It is time to stop running.
7 Responses
  1. Anonymous Says:

    dream can be liken to hope, time will tell if ... *winks*

  2. Don't mind me!
    Just catching up!

  3. YeaY Says:

    umur dua kasih = dua tahun berkasih = 2nd yr anniversary :)

    you mimpi pasal apa ni? if you eat more calzone's you'll dream sweet dreams ;)

  4. so did you stop running?

  5. hi aida,

    i miss you. please take care. :)

    your cousin

  6. what a dream. i used to run away from my past, denying some experience vehemently as if they never existed, only to realise it caught up with me later on in life.

    i hope you can face whatever your past is.

Post a Comment