Written by Millionaire’s Digest Team Member: Neil N.
Founder & Owner of: Moments to Remember
Millionaire’s Digest Team, Contributor, Writing Writer
I woke up in despair over something, again. Though, in reality, I never knew what it was. It would come and it would go just like that. A persistent and aching memory of seemed to be neither the past nor the present. The mind could have not conjure such imaginations without substances holding it or in other words, it is impossible to think of something we’re not capable of doing, such as the warmth of her cheek, the touch of her fingers, her breath, her body, her substance. Does ‘she’ even exist? or am I simply rummaging through all my past experiences? Then what of her? How did she come about? The question I asked myself as I hurried through the door, terribly late for work.
Days like these I always found myself late. The dream of the night before somehow had taken hours off my schedule.
“Maybe she’s someone from your past?” The waiter suggested. “Memories does that, when a trigger occurred, it would have sprung out even the deepest of memories that lays dormant”
“Like a virus?” I replied.
Then what is the trigger? I could perfectly view her in that vivid dream of mine, but I could not, for the life of me, identify it. Her laughter echoed through my ears, her existence gave warmth before me as if she was there, holding my hand. Before, she was just a random dream my brain made up to accommodate my nights, soon it continued up to a point where her existence has become my day, and my day became a horribly lonely, faded dream.
I handed the keys to my waiter, and have him open up the shop for the morning. If the dream consists, I may not be up at all. With what I know, the very source of it must be investigated which is the dream itself.
“Where had you been in my life?”
“I never was in it, not yet anyway” She replied.
“Then why am I seeing you?”
“Because memories does that, it is showing you what you misses the most, what you’re about to forget. The memory itself is clinging on, banging on that brain of yours to remember” She whispered as she placed her hands on top of mine.
“So you’re saying we have met?”
“No, you’re saying that. It’s just your subconscious trying to cohere with your condition”
“Then are you a figment of my subconscious?”
“A question for yourself it seems” She giggled.
And I woke up, with tears flowing down my eyes, smearing my cheeks, feeling nothing but distant sorrow and loneliness.
Sometimes I’d reflect myself and see how far I had progressed, from one point to another, hoping to catch a glimpse of what I used to be. Was she really from my past, my future? or my brain is simply slowly breaking apart.
I’ve always been a man of solitude. Relationship has been proven, on my side, based on my experience and observations, to be completely inconsequential. Or it could be my early shy demeanor, closeted attitude and introverted life that had brought me to that conclusion. That I could’ve continue without ever needing it, and even now I don’t, what I really seek through all these mysteries is simply an answer that would balance out everything again. When I could enjoy doing I love and being what I truly am. When it occurred, it changes me, it’s bugging me from inside out, begging me to take notice of its existence.
“Maybe you just have to wait” The waiter commented. “It will come, one day, maybe not now, but it will come”
“But it’s idiotic, to believe in blind faith” I replied.
“It’s not blind faith, call it a gamble. Don’t you enjoy an occasional gamble?”
With the very balance of myself as a bargain.
And it continued. After few months, I had accepted it as the way it is. It’s a part of me now. This nonexistent lady that was somehow imagined from my very imaginations had become a real person in my brain. To avoid sounding like a complete maniac, I should say, she had taken resident in my memory and she shows no signs of leaving.
It was a Saturday, and I was enjoying myself reading on one of the tables. Someone came through the door had to share a table with me. Something she didn’t seem to mind as I even offered my leave. She commented that it was nice to have a company. It was quite busy, hence the situation.
“It’s always full here on weekends. Glad I could get a seat.”
“It’s your lucky day then”
“Not exactly luck” She replied. The waiter came and took her order as she smiled her way through the menu, simply contemplating on the choices available.
“What is it then?” I continued as soon as the waiter left.
“Call it blind faith or whatever, but it was worth the wait. Don’t you think so?” She smiled right through me. Not for what was behind me, but rather through my physical existence. As if it was knocking a door deep beneath this flesh of mine. And that’s all I could remember of it. The waiter remarked on how we chatted through the afternoon before she left. Every Saturday, around 11:30 A.M. in the morning, she’d enter around this busy cafe and would somehow end up on my table, to a point where we had known each other quite well.
One evening, I noticed how I had stopped dreaming of that particular girl. And somehow as I lay deep under the thick blanket of my bed, I had the deepest impression, that I was sure, that she will not be returning anymore. Not in my dream, that is.
Article Credits: Neil N.
Millionaire’s Digest Team, Contributor