No matter how extreme the desire in our heart is, the heart is not the mind. Anyone that has ever experienced emotion knows that it lies in the heart; and anyone that has ever acted upon that emotion knows that sometimes, the mind is nowhere to be found in those consequent events. Feeling, it seems, is innately irrational. On the other end of the spectrum, that which is thought is not always felt. Sometimes, what we feel is not feeling at all, but our mind just playing tricks on our heart. Just the passing thought of feeling.
Daydreams are escapes. Another way for our minds to try and cope with the thoughts that we avoid in the waking moments. Another way to comprehend all the thoughts we just cannot ever fully understand. A way for our heart to display feeling in an image form. Basically, daydreams are like everything else it seems. They are things that just cannot be understood.
Escape into my dreams...
This doorway stares into darkness. Shards of light drift down like snowflakes, softly creating familiar, but strangely unique images. A place known, a place unknown, a place that was known and was forgotten, a place that will never be known, a place that can never be forgotten.
There is no door. This image does not stop, these images will never stop. The door cannot be closed on life. The image continues to shift and change, never settling. Quite...unsettling.
She leans against the cold frame of the doorway, wondering if it can even be called a doorway considering it lacks a door. Watching. A bystander to her own circumstance and consequence. Tired. Her eyes grow so tired, but she does not close them. There is always something to be seen, always something that can be missed. Somethings that she does not want to miss.
The pieces fall into place. One glance and it is all gone.
Suddenly, the image starts to settle. Until now, she had always been leaning against the doorway, but now she straightens herself and cocks her head to the side as though it will help the image stay clear. The image is pristine, there is no need to clarify. No matter her angle, it remains.
Never had she been able to move past that cold threshold, but this image pulls her forward. She steps forward into the nothingness beneath her feet. The image has a voice that she hears all around her although she knows there is no sound here. This is a silent realm. It had always been so quiet; it had a suffocating silence that she typically found pleasure immersing herself within. Yet now, now it seemed so loud.
Ripples of sound shake the edges, and the image begins to crumble the farther she progresses. She runs now, shakily since she has never felt such motion and has never attempted such a feat in this heavy place.The figure calling to her starts to fade around the edges as she moves closer. She is tempted to stop, but finds that she cannot resist the call of the figure that now reaches for her.
The weight grows lighter and lighter. The light starts to spew forth from her. She wonders if this is that which she had been waiting so long.
As she reaches the figure, it has almost faded, but she recognizes the familiar face. She smiles at her and turns, placing a gentle hand to the "wall" of the image. The image shakes. The entire realm that she had so long thought to be the only place she would ever know begins to tremble beneath, above, and all around her. Her senses are drowned, but she hears the cracking.
Where the figure has placed her hand on the wall, it begins to crack from the center. Small pieces fall and the cracks expand, branching outward until larger chunks start falling as well. Like the images in the beginning; it is as though it is snowing glass.
Her hands are bleeding. She looks at her hands and realizes that the figure is nowhere to be seen. She begins to laugh. Really laugh. It was her along.
"This is me," she thinks. "This is my escape."
And the image shatters for the last time.
