Earth, Edge of Dreams

I hadn't sleep like this for almost a lifetime, and it's been a week since I have been sleeping early. Dreams are becoming more vivid everyday; and it was a consolation for all the things I've lost. Waking up is even harder; dreams are taking over even in the waking hour. My tongue started to feel strange as I trace them with my fingers and tasted all the alphabets flowing around my mouth. They're just too many words I wanted to say, too many words I wanted to tell someone. It felt so bizarre that my mouth flows with so many words that I could taste every adjective to describe a feeling. A feeling that when I started to spit out, starts to burn my tongue.


My head started to hum, a message perhaps. Hum, hum, it says; my head tells me to reach for my shoes and walk on the street. There is nothing else to do on the street this day as I pack my bag and wore my sunglasses. I am more than aware to the fact that the pavement is more, or less the only thing that's holding me. Maybe I should just check my shoes again, make sure it's  intact and shoelaces are in place. The crowd is oblivious to my existence, custom concern is their own journey as I am to my own. I always walk the path of least resistance and yours looked like one.

So I played a song by a band that doesn't exist in a conversation and dancing like crazy smiling like crazy. It keeps spinning in my head even in my sleep. My dreams were a remixed of Apocalypse Now and Dr. Strangelove with their love of Napalm and Atomic Bomb with the song cuing on the background. I hear a whisper of the same song, and there it was, a girl sitting on her own under a tree. Her humming creates a vivid image of a piano and a violin playing Vivaldi's Concerto No. 3 in G. Major. I could see letters and words flying out of her mouth as she hums the same song. I wish I could make out the words flowing out of her as she fixed her hair up a little because she thinks it looked terrible in the morning.

The tree she's sitting on looks like the one in my postcard that I kept in a house with a sunspot on a wall. It was the same house that I visit as a child, but you couldn't really tell whether it's a house or whatnot. I kept it there for some time, but I burned it one day because I claimed my life wasn’t exciting anymore. It was my treasure back then as I kept coming back every afternoon at the house with a sunspot on a wall. Holding it up with one hand as it burned on the other end and closes my right eye as the other stare on a pretty sunset. The postcard is halfway from burning, and there it was, not just an image of a tree on the postcard but the same girl sitting on a tree humming the same song I kept on hearing. Then I laugh; laughed harder than the day a friend got stuck on a hole in a rice field back when we were still boys. She looked at me with a funny eye, then she smiled and I stopped laughing. She wouldn't understand, maybe if I didn't burned the postcard and showed it to her she might have laughed too but will I be laughing too?

So she asked me to sit at the same tree that I have in a postcard as a boy with a picture of a girl sitting and humming under a tree. It was surreal, and we end up humming the same damn song in our head with letters and words came flying out of our mouth and mixed together like a prose.