I woke up in the middle of the night with this on my mind, so I guess I dreamed it. It's only a drabble, but it feels like more words would ruin it. I rather give you the unaltered musing of my dreaming mind.

Disclaimer: I do own the annoying habit to wake up either at 2:07 AM, 3:01 AM or 4:17 AM. I don't own the show. I'd like to trade the first thing for the second, though.


Red clouds swallow the daylight as I try to run away from the world's funeral gravity. Then, at the end of all colors, your aphonic mouth and lifeless eyes tell me that I shall go on alone now. I falter, and I hear the imperturbable breathing of time next to me. I tie it up and embrace it while I almost can't see anything anymore.

Time is so dark.

The semi-naked trees throw their last leafs at my feet and their branches keep hold of the time for me so I can breathe. Without a warning, time breaks loose again, wheezes uproariously in my ears and resumes its everlasting, merciless process.

The sky is void of birds.

The city is void of sun.

And everyone sees something else in the darkness.

In autumnal bushes I lie in wait for myself; out of bone-dry brush I assault myself. I am frozen in time, but the time is my impulse.

Don't you want to break my fall?

The piano remains deafeningly silent as I wander through the rooms that I entered years ago and never were able to leave. Wordlessly I tickle the ivories because I can't scream anymore and in my imagination the arising din is my voice.

The autumn leafs of another year whirl.

The autumn wind sweeps away another memory.

And I'm still a prisoner of the past.

At night I lie awake and count the days that remain. The whirling leafs pause when the wind sleeps. They weakly cling to the branches as I stubbornly wallow in reminiscences and vengefulness.

Only time itself races and never tires.

I look into the mirror and don't recognize myself. You are in the dark room with me, but it doesn't occur to you to kiss my chapped lips. Nevertheless, it is vital to notionally feel your body next to mine.

And every time I dare to dream, your eyes are inflamed with rage and cold as ice.

And I can't remember how your sleeping face looks illuminated by the moonlight.

"No worries," my loneliness attempts to allay my fears with a shrug.

I bend forward to graze my shadow on the wall; I'm afraid to lose myself.

With a jerk I get up, sometimes. I plunge into the darkness and refuse to surface. Until I get weak; until I gasp for air. I force myself to turn on the lights so I at least visually contrast with the nightly gloom.

Time devours me.

Out of the sky, dead stars fall down. My hands cover my ears as the sounds of the past gets louder and louder. I indulge in mind games with the time. I spy with my little eye... something that is red.

Until, one day, the tortured piano begins to keep silent.

The golden rain of the sun makes me blink.

Fragile flutter of butterfly wings enthralls me.

I feel a craving for strawberries.

Vigorously, I push off the wall to play tag with the time.

I shall continue living now.