Retreating from the world

You don’t talk about your dreams anyone, do you?

Not really. No.

Why? Do you not have any?

I do. Really. I have had some and I had many when I was younger. You should have seen those! They’re mean. They’re ambitious. They bite. They make the world seem like a gigantic playground, where the pleasure’s in the living. They make waking up in the morning an exciting event.

I’d love to hear ‘em one day. But forgive me for asking this…

No. Go ahead.

Where are they now?

(Silence… until it became uncomfortable for both.)

It’s ok if you don’t feel like responding to it. I asked out of spontaneity.

(Still silence.)

Sorry.

No. It’s fine. What about I get you a drink? What would you like? Absolut Vodka Mandarin?

***

There is only so much words can do for you before every attempt to find meaning in and for them becomes futile. And when you start to develop fears for the only space you have left, you are tempted to draw back completely.

I get scared when I encounter incidents daily that make no sense. It’s either I am losing my marbles or the world is.

No, the world doesn’t go mad. It’s you.

Fighting injustice becomes a futile effort that destroys your sense of self and worth too often for comfort – even when I am fighting for myself; and even when someone else’s incompetence becomes mine.

Are there no angels? Are there no words?

I’ve no humour left to expend, to amuse, to tickle, or to put things into perspective.