Dog nights are over / Just an Illusion

A big city, a big avenue, late, late at night.

There was him, driving back home in high speed.

Sun would soon break in, illuminating the concrete jungle into a summer morning tone.

The city was calmly sleeping – too asleep to wave him goodbye as he returned to the nearby town.

Inebriated by his own feelings, he was feeling glorious.

A poetry being whispered at the tip of his ear, becoming a beautiful melody inside his head.

Oh, poetry.

His nights, though, would start on a more animalistic fashion.

He was not himself. He was the dog, the predator – or even the prey.

It was a game of survival.

It was a test to all five, six senses, all calling him into a trap.

The touch and, finally, the taste of the body… And, why not, of the soul.

Magic, however, would only happen when the flesh was cut so deep that a soul was bare and touchable.

Oh, the taste of one’s soul.

Then the dog would become a poet, a writer.

That would be a night to remember.

So he kept heading into the nights, heading after the locked freaks, the hidden fears, the disguised exuberance.

Day after day, night after night, he would go even deeper in his endeavours.

I witnessed it all.

-

And before the sun descended he screamed, his voice so loud that echoed even in his past, not long before he slowly luring himself into a swirling and mild dance in pure dedication to the night that was ending, to the luxury and the lust, to the present and the future, to the glory and the victory, to his own figure and person; And this dance itself so full in ode to oneself and so fully glorious on its own right - so shiny and somewhat stomping to whoever would take a glance. As he danced, he would repeatedly ask himself the deepest question of the night, trying to figure out the meaning of his own quests and the sense on every disorder, by singing, again and again, “what are rules for if not to be broken?”

-

He was living, at last.

Laying in so many beds, waking up in different places, intoxicated by his own luring mind.

A different night, a different lover.

Let’s burn the stars.

Fire was being made; love was being created, erupting from every pore.

His fingertips were capturing every figure.
He was falling in love every night.

He had so much love to give, and he would give his heart away so easily...

Oh, silly boy, splitting his heart into so many, so many pieces.

It would certainly break eventually.

-

Without love, where would you be now?

-

Nothing, as you may now, lasts forever. He was running out of time, but he sure enjoyed every moment of it so intensely… Maybe he was tired, maybe he’d had enough. I don’t know. He just ran away.

The last night was then bound be different.

It wasn’t him anymore, he was gone.

It was me.

A door being opened, and then those dizzyingly deep black eyes of a - then - stranger were staring back at me. I felt that unknow energy taking place, wrapping me around.

Where am I?

Statues of goddesses luring us inside a luxury fantasy world.
A moment of awkward silence to contemplate - rapidly broken, though.

How many hours of simple, unpretentious conversation, of experience exchange?

Laughter, connection points, plain silly moments.

It was not just a night.

Long after, when hearts were in synchrony, lips touched.

And magic happened. Hearts collided.

“Shall you date me tonight?” I asked.

“I shall.”

Such a fresh feeling.
For one night only, I was no longer a lonesome soul.

For one night only, love was being proved, while lust was merely an accessory – a good one, though.

We were caught in a moment, in a parallel universe, in parallel space and time.

Away from the troubles and the boring everyday lives.

Hours later, I was having the most glorious moment of my life so far.

With my lover’s head hanging on my shoulder, I was driving.

Nowhere to go, just a big city to be split in two, in high speed.

Lights going by, making us starry eyed.

A pulsing sense of freedom, of glory, of the most utter and intense happiness I’d felt in such a long while... Such a sense of completion.

It was the most perfect picture of each one of my dreams, of my lost future, of the life I would draw in my imagination.

I was living, at last, everything I had fantasized about.

I don’t want this to end, I don’t want this to end

Rather obviously, though, it was just an illusion - a sweet fantasy world that eventually crumbled to its predicted end.

Single again, I was, once more, driving back home. Now for the last time.
The feeling inside resembled something like the most terrifying despair one could feel minutes after the glory.

I’m surrounded by confusion,

and I’m lost in this illusion

Broken dreams bring so much pain…

A couple of days after, all the dream world would have been gone anyway, so I decided that the dog nights were over.

Nothing else would count, no adventure would matter.

And the despair, it would only grow stronger.

Back to homeland, far, far away from the big streets, towers and avenues, I was still trapped in the painful broken illusion, and only able – as natural – to break it all into even more pieces.

How terrible is it to realise you are the only one who cares?

All I have is questions and questions.

What is going to happen?

Where are my dreams?

Where to move on to?

Oh, life.

I need some glory back.

Need some thrill, need some (more) fresh air.

That’s what has gotten me running in my undergrounds, puzzled and unable to find the directions back to sanity.

I only run, I only run, while I hope I can get to live again. Or for the first time.

I want life.

What about you, dear reader?
What do YOU want?

Cheers!

X