"..Mr. Deja Vu,
kimi ga inai,
maboroshi ni natta hibi
kizuitara kimi ga inai,
tokei no hari ugokanai,
speak to me.."
kimi ga inai,
maboroshi ni natta hibi
kizuitara kimi ga inai,
tokei no hari ugokanai,
speak to me.."
Dear lonely isle,
These few days have been a challenge for me.
I don't know why but I feel very drained. I am constantly tired. Yet I do not sleep.
And every day it gets worse. So much so that right now, every time I sit down, my body threatens to shut down, and even now, I feel my eyelids getting heavy.
When I stop talking, I feel the fatigue set in. When I rest or stand still I sway, because I don't have the strength to keep upright.
I can't lean on things, because if I shift my weight onto something else, I'm in danger of falling asleep.
I don't know why, but I refuse to sleep.
If life is one long nightmare, when will we wake up?
Then by going to sleep do we wake up?
Then the dream is the reality, and reality is a dream.
But what is truly real?
Is it what we feel, what we touch what we see?
Or is it what our mind tells us to be real?
Going through life in a daze now, the lines blur and I cannot be sure what is and what isn't.
So when we close our eyes at night, we see what we think, what we believe. But is that a dream?
Is the world we see in our minds more real than the reality?
What is reality other than a place for us to feel?
In our minds we are truly free. Free from constraints and everything else. So freedom in reality isn't freedom.
No one can take away the sights and sounds in your head.
A painting that exists only in the imagination. A symphony yet to be composed, already played in the mind like a bad pop song. A story yet to be told, already unfurled and unfolded in the head.
What are they? Might-have-beens?
Or are they real? Do they not exist only because it hasn't been fleshed? Because it only lives in the mind?
What is real?
What is not?
Do we dream? Or do we live the dream?
love, joyce.
I don't know why but I feel very drained. I am constantly tired. Yet I do not sleep.
And every day it gets worse. So much so that right now, every time I sit down, my body threatens to shut down, and even now, I feel my eyelids getting heavy.
When I stop talking, I feel the fatigue set in. When I rest or stand still I sway, because I don't have the strength to keep upright.
I can't lean on things, because if I shift my weight onto something else, I'm in danger of falling asleep.
I don't know why, but I refuse to sleep.
If life is one long nightmare, when will we wake up?
Then by going to sleep do we wake up?
Then the dream is the reality, and reality is a dream.
But what is truly real?
Is it what we feel, what we touch what we see?
Or is it what our mind tells us to be real?
Going through life in a daze now, the lines blur and I cannot be sure what is and what isn't.
So when we close our eyes at night, we see what we think, what we believe. But is that a dream?
Is the world we see in our minds more real than the reality?
What is reality other than a place for us to feel?
In our minds we are truly free. Free from constraints and everything else. So freedom in reality isn't freedom.
No one can take away the sights and sounds in your head.
A painting that exists only in the imagination. A symphony yet to be composed, already played in the mind like a bad pop song. A story yet to be told, already unfurled and unfolded in the head.
What are they? Might-have-beens?
Or are they real? Do they not exist only because it hasn't been fleshed? Because it only lives in the mind?
What is real?
What is not?
Do we dream? Or do we live the dream?
love, joyce.
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