The sun set drenching the room in its light. The old floorboards creaked under her feet as she walked to the window, pulling the silk drapes down.
She had not left the house for many weeks and the passing of time had lost all meaning.
The people in her life where resembling shadows and shadows do not leave much to miss. They seem to stand silently beside you, offering you a glimpse of the person, yet when dark times inevitably fall they vanish.
The more she learnt of truth, she realised all she knew was lies.
Marks lingered on her body, around her neck and across her arms, his marks. Outside rain hits the concrete and drips down the window pane, the wind wails. Dark shadows creep across the walls, the echoing silence thunders loudly. The memories were slipping through her grasp like water. Was she to see his blue eyes filled with sunlight again? Or the way he smiled, dimples forming across his rugged face, was she going to miss that?
For who does she have? No family, nor many friends… Apart from her two papillons, with their hearts as expansive as oceans, she was alone.
To others she was the adventurer, the philosopher, the dreamer, the truth seeker. Though they never wanted to get too close it seemed.
She is the nomad, the hermit, the artist, the seductress, the child, the scared, the hurt, the lonely, the passionate, the strong, the universe and the stars.
“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” ― Albert Einstein
Pink clouds stretch across a deep orange sky as the sun set, in that moment all simply is. Trees gently sway in the whispering breeze, crickets welcome the oncoming night. I look to the skies above and sigh.
What is reality?
Since I can remember I have felt this strange sensation; am I really awake? What if I was simply in a deep sleep and woke realising this, my whole life was a dream. What if time, was an illusion and your life as you perceive it was a carefully constructed and intricate lie?
It can be difficult to speak about such things in words, as the truth just is, it is speechless, its felt rather than heard and known rather than learnt. Yet something that can be said as well as felt; our perception of time is speeding up, people are ‘awakening’, asking questions and allowing their essence to be heard. More and more people are tuning in to their conciousness, to their vibration, or whatever else you know it as.
Yet many people are like ants, carrying out functions unknown to them in a daze of reality and a haze of city fumes, their essence in a deep slumber, their own mind blinding them.
Now stars cover the dark ink sky like a mosaic, cicadas sing in the humid air and bats screech. Another night will pass, escaping our grasp.