Sometimes I wonder if the words that pour out of my head is my sanity slowly finding its freedom. And as I become more insane, I tell myself that it is okay. "All of the wonderful people are mad in one way or another..." I'd tell myself. And I still do. "It's not healthy." "That poor soul, she's so lost." They'd say. But I didn't mind it. I don't mind walking off of my path every once in a while. Life seems to be more interesting when I do, really. I like walking on the edges of walls sometimes. It gives me purpose. I'm always a tiptoe away from falling but then I balance and I feel okay.
I met a man yesterday. He was taller than any man I've seen. Though he never spoke, I could tell he felt the same things I did. He wore a suit, quite fancy attire for such an informal occasion. But I liked how he didn't mind if he was overdressed or not, he just wore what he had wanted to. His pale skin, contrasted against the red tie he wore around his neck, and I liked how the colors were combined, but each still its own color. I don't remember his face, that night I wanted to explore the ways of alcohol. So many things were wonderful, and it would be unfair towards the memories to say they were all meaningless. I woke up today, with the sun shining in my face, and a note in my hand that said,
"Your words are beautiful. The way such wicked, twisted, inhumane words came together, to sing such melodies. Your words spoke what I could not. Your stories gave me memories that were never meant to be mine. And for that I am grateful forever. One day, I hope to hear another of your stories again. –SM "
He was beautiful. I am sure of it. I hope I do meet him again, one day.
Last night, I had a dream. It was of the man, though he was without a face. We sat in a forest, the trees seemed infinite all around. And I told him stories, and we shared our burdens. Still, he did not speak, but he did in a voice so beautiful. He gave me the feelings he had felt, and in return I gave him my thoughts. After a while of enjoying each other's company, I asked him, "Will you be my friend? "And in that moment, it was as if I had slapped him with all the hate in the world. I felt his fear, and loneliness, I felt the despair, and then a drop of blood splattered against my skin. I looked up to see bodies hanging from the trees, and then I knew. He could not befriend someone he had to kill.
I spent many nights trying to figure out what this dream had meant. Why would I dream of something so, disturbed? I had come to good terms with my own insanities, but this was foreign to me. I was afraid. And never had I been this afraid, yet so eager to learn what was best kept hidden from me. I wanted to find this man, so I decided to start looking in the last place I remembered him. I quickly drove to the outside bar, people sat on the tables outside, and along the bar, conversing and laughing with beers in their hand. Some watched sports on the television, oblivious of what was going on around them. I walked over to the bar, and sat down. I waited for a while, watching the bar tender flirting with a women in her thirties. He leaned in closer to her and whispered something into her ear, and automatically her face wore an appalled expression, her hand met his face with a loud smack, and she gathered her things and left. I felt guilty for quietly laughing at the poor man, so I decided to give him time to recover, before I asked him any question. "Excuse me, can I have a beer? " I asked moments later. He walked over to me. He pulled the white dish towel from his shoulder, shoved it into a glass and began to clean it. He looked at me and smiled. " You have really pretty eyes…" he said. I decided not to be offended by his playboy attitude, and accepted the compliment, yet let him know I wouldn't play his game. "That was a pretty intense slap. Any guy to be slapped like that needs to learn from it." I said, holding back a laugh but not a smile. His face began to turn red. "Heres your beer…" he placed it in front of me and turned to walk away. "Wait!.." I called after him, almost choking on the sip of beer I had drank. "I have a question," His face brightened, and he leaned onto the counter towards me. "I knew you wanted to ask me out…" he said with a smirk. I laughed. "oh, no. I was wondering if you maybe remember a guy about two nights ago who sat here with me?" he stood up from the counter and shook his head. "oh right, you were here two nights ago. That drunk girl. Uh I don't remember anyone being with you though..." he said and walked away. while I was driving along the road, I thought of the man. 'maybe I wasn't supposed to find him.' 'maybe he was never real' . The sky seemed darker than usual, and while my mind wandered off into unnecessary thoughts, I soon found myself back to where I had started. If he wasn't real, then where did I get the note?
That night, as I laid in bed. I thought of him one last time. I knew I soon had to forget him. I turned off the light and went to sleep. I dreamt that I was in my room, and someone called my name from outside with a faint voice. 'Helena…' I didn't have a mind of my own, and I mindlessly obeyed. 'Helena' it called again, softer and more seductive. I walked down the stairs, out onto the grass, and into the forest behind me. I could feel the grass under my feet, and the wind kiss my bare arms. After awhile of walking, I stood still.
"You're trying to find me, aren't you?" the voice asked, with no one in sight to claim it. I didn't have an answer. " well don't, im scared of what could happen if you do."
"what could happen?" I asked, with no intention of hiding the curiosity in my voice.