Friday, February 5, 2010

Closet in my Soul - A short story.

I wrap it carefully, taking care not to damage its fragile shell. It is both exquisitely delicate and surprisingly resilient at the same time, a marvel of my own construction that awes me with both the simpleness of it's existence and the complexity of existence. It is priceless, yet worth nothing to anyone but me.

It is one of the worst days I can imagine.

I'm putting away a dream.

Love has always been that elusive certain something that hard work and perseverance have no effect on. Nobody owes you love no matter your efforts. It simply is or it isn't. And although I know this to be one of the truest statements ever, I've never believed it.

Then one day, because life and daylight, or bone weariness and soul degradation, or just something ... you know you have to stop pretending to one person you should never lie to, yourself. You look around and realize you're in a place where the flowers don't bloom in your heart anymore because of three seconds that changed the quarks and neurons of the makeup of your personal universe. You take a breath and realize between heartbeats that you're not going to be who you thought you were.

All because you dreamed.

Dreams are hopes set to music, with life breathed into little scenarios that tilt the prism of life so that the light of existence shines just a little brighter, if only for a few seconds. And most dreams, with dedication and devotion, can be wrought into a rough reality, a crude approximation that can be better than the dream because it is real, and can be crafted closer and closer to a goal. But not dreams of Love. For with Love you play the vast unpredictable lottery of human capricious nature inherent in us all. For Love...we all just hope.

And if you're smart, you'll pray that there is no music.

I put my dream into a little box and covered it gently. Then tuck it away. Where deep in the closet of my soul it will rest, gathering dust, the detritus of bland and meaningless memories spent filling out the years. But in those final hours, we'll drag it out.

And hum a tune. And dream again.

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