I awake to find the flag ripped and hanging limply from the wall. The thick blanket, the one that keeps me warm, is stuffed into a corner against the far wall; I shiver under the thin sheets, cold night air pouring through the open window inches away. The books on the side table are strewn about the room, along with papers and dust-covers that have been placed strategically about the floor.
Vague memories of vivid nighttime dreamscapes flourish as I prepare breakfast before diving back into the deep psyche, where they will mold and fester until their next resurfacing.
Is this torment fleeting and temporary, or will it stay with me into the future? Will I awake bruised and shaking even if I satisfy some of the more nagging wants that slumber in the dark recesses of my soul? I think I will, for the dreams are nothing new; they were with me as a child; into adulthood they have lasted; there seems no end in sight. I am not afraid, for in them I do things otherwise impossible, and I spend time with the people who wish not to spend time with me, lost loves and failed conquests, forgotten friends and faceless enemies.
In my dreams I am free to fly and maim and kill and race, defying the laws of physics and riding the great diving skywhales until my beeping cellphone cries dawn.
Wake me not before my time, but leave me to my sleep and tortured dreams.
Ultima Ratio Regum.
JP
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