Thoughts Brought On Late At Night By the Wrong Music

Something belongs here. In this moment between awake and asleep. When we reflect on the thoughts we could not permit ourselves to have while life was happening. But now they are the constructs of the world. This world we have imagined in this little place here, just before sleep.

This music reminds me of being 18, dropping acid, and listening to Enigma or Nine Inch Nails, depending on whether my mood was fantastical or self-deprecating.

But remembering that music reminds me that the music was empty. Hollow, even. Hinting at another world behind the one we see, but never delivering. Always hinting and alluding to, but always disappointing. Not like the City of Light. Someday, perhaps.

I read a book once, about the lost city of Atlantis. In this book, the city was thriving and full of glory. And the queen, she was as magnificent as she was cruel. And this blue hue underwater world painted across my mind eventually met the same end. A shallow, inopportune ending. The imagination has edges. The story is pretend, so it has limits. It’s not a never ending fully immersible video game. It’s a daydream with a music soundtrack.

Which takes me back even further, to video games. RBI with the fat squatty little guys. Kirby Puckett was the only one who looked accurate. In that game I could bat .400 and crush one out of the park, but the ball eventually came down. There were limits to the game. There were edges. Dividing lines where I could not pass. Limitations to my imagination. The real world would have to be allowed to resume. The daydream can’t go on forever.

Then the song changes and the mood changes and it sounds like waves lapping up on shore and suddenly I think of my honeymoon. And how that was the happiest time of my married life. And how tragic that is. HOw magical that moment was, and how desperately I wanted to stay on that island and never return. I should have stayed. And never returned. And done whatever it took to stay. Odd jobs. Sleep on benches. Find a way. I should have. She could have stayed with me. She wouldn’t have, of course. But she could have.

That return flight to the mainland was heartbreaking. The weather was terrible. The scenery dead and concrete. We would NOT have the fairy tale ending. We would go on to discover myriad ways we don’t connect or understand each other. And we would fight. Boy, would we fight. More than I’ve ever fought with another human being. More desperate than I’ve ever been. Until one day, a day like today, I would find myself so completely lost, I’ve given up hope of recovery. I’ve given up believing. Given up trying. Given up pretending. Just given up.

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