It will be a waking dream, not the kind you get when you snooze in your car or at work or the silent awkward moments before you fall asleep but it will be a scent and a memory wrapped into one and you will see it with some part of your eye and it will feel like it's a memory filled with the leaking faucets around the house, dripping through your stairs and seeping into the walls, making each and everyone of them moist and soft to the touch, like green brownies left on the stovetop for so long, back when you were 17, dropped out, smoking what you could get your hands on that would pass as weed or hash and it will be one of those moments when you stand at the bar and you'll order a manhattan and you get the distinct deja vu feeling and this is what this will be like only different.
You'll think of it as more, further probing into the world your mind inhabits and when you were little your brain hurt when learning both math and english in the same day and you thought the world your brain inhabited was a dark little cave but you were never afraid of what was in that cave and you were never afraid of what was under your bed, inside your closet or hiding behind bushes on unlit roads early evening in the winter
You weren't afraid of what they were afraid of because you never knew what you were afraid of, you knew your body could bristle any time of fear for there was this dam building itself inside the cavern you discovered when you were little and all you knew was that all the world will die today
From the first time someone saw you and told you they knew who you were and they had seen you to the last time you said I love you falsely, everything passes through the corridor. Itself as sterile as possible with janitors working to maintain the corridor like that and with endless rooms and more corridors branching into themselves, creating this beehive where every room is connected with every room, everyone with the same sickness can talk to eachother about their sickness and those with that disease can talk to others with that disease but the first corridor is long, goes through the heart of the hive, connects it, makes it hum and squeak when it's supposed to hum and squeak and at the end of the corridor, where we've headed beyond operating theatres and crying wives and husbands and mothers and father, far beyond the blood donors and far beyond the hurt and heartthrob for those working here we find the last door, the one we'll step through and be enveloped into the light like neo was
Your heart was hollow before we began this and your soul was a husk, stolen from the sides of qlippoth, like a father will steal food from his son but you do remember, don't you? It was us. We began this together, we sat out on the porch and we drank something cheap and we were smoking poor hash but we had a lot of it and we'd made brownies and we knew we could stay here for a week and we both knew what we wanted and how we wanted the other of us to see this week, how we were planning to live together for the rest of our lives and it doesn't stick if you have a weekend but a week when you're seventeen with no plans, no future, no desire for an immediate future and no nothing. Just a cabin in the hills, an ounce of shit, a bible and this girl
Who you didn't really keep in touch with, one week passed away swiftly and you were down in the big city and left all your dimes on the greyhound and your heart was stuck in your throat and you felt uneasy but this wasn't the fear you'd been looking for, that had shyed away all your life at every crossroad like ibsens bøygen, there were none that wanted to put your soul into the spoon, fire up the spoon and melt your soul
All the world'll end today you'll believe when you grow up for those are the only words that have ever truly reverberated through your bones and I remember mine was linger for that first time I heard that my nose began to bleed heavily and I felt the heart collapse in my brain and I remembered this deja vu sensation and all I really cared for was more