Melancholic Derivations

May 10, 2007

Closing Doors

He twitched, gingerly opening his eyes to the glaring light. Rubbing his eyes slowly, he sat up and took note of his surroundings. Cool air, sweet smell of dew, birds singing in the trees; it was everything you might have hoped to wake up to. He stirred, rustling the pile of dead leaves as he got up to explore his surroundings. Where was this place? It felt so serene and yet, underlying it all, was a feeling of dread; like it was all a facade.

Then he woke. To the darkness of his old shed. To the musty smell of old newspapers flung around the room, evidence of his tardiness. It was all a sham, something he knew was too good to be true. Somehow the light he saw and the beauty he experienced was always going to be too good for him. It was his destiny in life never to know happiness and the dream was merely sick taunting from the corner of his consciousness, as if cruelly reminding him of his eternal melancholy. It was always going to be a case of chasing shadows in the wind, or was it?

The door had been left ajar, leaving light streaming in from the sun outside. As he walked over to investigate, he felt a cool breeze filter into the room, reminiscent of what he'd experienced in the dream. Could it be that there was happiness behind the door? If he'd only open it wide and take it all in? He heard voices calling out to him from the fence outside, as if gesturing for him to follow his heart and to embrace the Light outside. He smiled wryly, as if making a motion to do so.

Then he stopped. Taking a padlock, he bolted it shut, making sure that never again would he believe that he'd ever be happy. Then he sank to the floor slowly, and wept.

"They say love hurts, I wrote that book."

Labels: Melancholic

Traveller fell apart at 1:01 AM


	Now Spinning Heroes Theme - Heroes Soundtrack The Protagonist joel \| content \| driven \| focused \| motive-oriented \| cynical \| analytical \| God-fearing \| jaded \| Frequent Reads Ben Christie Christine Davina Eugene Jasmine Jeremy Jo-ann Kay-Lene Mac Tammy Vivek Past Rants January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 Tap My Shoulder		May 10, 2007 Closing Doors He twitched, gingerly opening his eyes to the glaring light. Rubbing his eyes slowly, he sat up and took note of his surroundings. Cool air, sweet smell of dew, birds singing in the trees; it was everything you might have hoped to wake up to. He stirred, rustling the pile of dead leaves as he got up to explore his surroundings. Where was this place? It felt so serene and yet, underlying it all, was a feeling of dread; like it was all a facade. Then he woke. To the darkness of his old shed. To the musty smell of old newspapers flung around the room, evidence of his tardiness. It was all a sham, something he knew was too good to be true. Somehow the light he saw and the beauty he experienced was always going to be too good for him. It was his destiny in life never to know happiness and the dream was merely sick taunting from the corner of his consciousness, as if cruelly reminding him of his eternal melancholy. It was always going to be a case of chasing shadows in the wind, or was it? The door had been left ajar, leaving light streaming in from the sun outside. As he walked over to investigate, he felt a cool breeze filter into the room, reminiscent of what he'd experienced in the dream. Could it be that there was happiness behind the door? If he'd only open it wide and take it all in? He heard voices calling out to him from the fence outside, as if gesturing for him to follow his heart and to embrace the Light outside. He smiled wryly, as if making a motion to do so. Then he stopped. Taking a padlock, he bolted it shut, making sure that never again would he believe that he'd ever be happy. Then he sank to the floor slowly, and wept. "They say love hurts, I wrote that book." Labels: Melancholic Traveller fell apart at 1:01 AM