Memories and Rememberance
My room
I've heard home is where the heart is, home is where your mother is...so many different quotes like those. All of them seem a little superficial. Did anyone actually feel like that? Or did some inventor on a movie spend hours making up that line? It makes me think that half of what people say aren't feelings, just inventions. But inventors got us through life, or at least they think they did.
If I had to choose where my home was, it would be in my room. That would be the place where I am. My clothes, my pictures, my memories would all be stored in there.
Which proves that I don't have a room.
Because my memories are everywhere and anywhere. Like take tonight, for instance. I think I was dreaming, but I never actually remember myself sleeping, so I could be awake.
Instead of my past memories, I'm on Times Square. I can see myself through the windows, but it doesn't seem real. I'm wearing a navy blue knit hat and a black jacket; also some dark blue jeans. I have a bag draped over my shoulder and a coffee in hand. I'm walking as fast as I can, but I always stay on Times Square. You start walking my way. You're rushing, really fast. When you get to the corner, a huge crashing sound is heard. You get on your knees and you're looking at someone, but again I can't see who it is. I can see a lot of other people, but no one I recognize.
You're crying. I can see the tears fall down, but they don't hit the ground. I think they drop on the person you're talking to. People start to crowd around you, so I can't see. I turn my direction towards you and start running. This time I move. I push through the people and then I'm standing right in front of you. You look up slowly into my eyes, and then you look down. I do too. The girl is me. I gasp. Then you stand up. And you look at me again. I love the feeling of you looking at me.
"Sky." You say. A bunch of emotions come crashing down on me, and instantly I know that that is my name. My expression is blank, I can see it through the windows. I start to talk, but I don't know what I'm saying. You're eyes go wide.
"You're not dead." Did I say that? I nod, for reasons uknown.
"Yes I am." I can barely hear myself say that. You shake your head again and again until tears start coming again.
"No, no sky I see you. You're here. You're alive." I look to my left. The other me is being lifted onto a gourney. He follows my gaze. When he looks back I'm there, but it's like he can't see me. He curses and runs after the other me, sobbing.
And then I wake up.
Or go back to sleep, which ever it is.
I remember that feeling that I got in the dream. I know it's a dream because I've never had a memory like that before. I want those feelings.
I remember his eye color; a blue-ish brown. The blue somehow mixes in swirls with the brown. It's beautiful.
I remember his touch. He never touched me, but when he touched the other me, i felt it. His hand was warm, all I ever feel is cold. I want that warmth again.
The memory of myself is starting to fade. I don't remember what I was wearing, or anything else. I just know I was there.
And then the memory of who the other girl was fades too. I reach my hand out, trying to grab it back.
I want that memory back more than anything. I want to take it and store. I want to keep that memory. I want to keep that dream.
I want to store it in my room.
But I don't have a room, so I can't.
The dream disappears.
All I remember is this longing for it. And then I start to think.
When you're alive, you can make memories. As many as you want.
But I guess if you were dead, then everything you were doing didn't really happen. Cause dead people can't do things.
So maybe my dream was in the present. Maybe, like I said before I really was awake. And by being awake, I was alive. Being alive, I could make memories. But I'm still dead, so I had to go back to sleep.
And as soon as I do that, my memory isn't real.
So maybe I have to figure out how to stay awake.
Maybe I have to find my room.
But maybe my room is my soul.
And if that's the case, then I'll never find it.
Cause people lose their souls as soon as they die.
And I think it's a little obvious that I'm not alive.
If I had to choose where my home was, it would be in my room. That would be the place where I am. My clothes, my pictures, my memories would all be stored in there.
Which proves that I don't have a room.
Because my memories are everywhere and anywhere. Like take tonight, for instance. I think I was dreaming, but I never actually remember myself sleeping, so I could be awake.
Instead of my past memories, I'm on Times Square. I can see myself through the windows, but it doesn't seem real. I'm wearing a navy blue knit hat and a black jacket; also some dark blue jeans. I have a bag draped over my shoulder and a coffee in hand. I'm walking as fast as I can, but I always stay on Times Square. You start walking my way. You're rushing, really fast. When you get to the corner, a huge crashing sound is heard. You get on your knees and you're looking at someone, but again I can't see who it is. I can see a lot of other people, but no one I recognize.
You're crying. I can see the tears fall down, but they don't hit the ground. I think they drop on the person you're talking to. People start to crowd around you, so I can't see. I turn my direction towards you and start running. This time I move. I push through the people and then I'm standing right in front of you. You look up slowly into my eyes, and then you look down. I do too. The girl is me. I gasp. Then you stand up. And you look at me again. I love the feeling of you looking at me.
"Sky." You say. A bunch of emotions come crashing down on me, and instantly I know that that is my name. My expression is blank, I can see it through the windows. I start to talk, but I don't know what I'm saying. You're eyes go wide.
"You're not dead." Did I say that? I nod, for reasons uknown.
"Yes I am." I can barely hear myself say that. You shake your head again and again until tears start coming again.
"No, no sky I see you. You're here. You're alive." I look to my left. The other me is being lifted onto a gourney. He follows my gaze. When he looks back I'm there, but it's like he can't see me. He curses and runs after the other me, sobbing.
And then I wake up.
Or go back to sleep, which ever it is.
I remember that feeling that I got in the dream. I know it's a dream because I've never had a memory like that before. I want those feelings.
I remember his eye color; a blue-ish brown. The blue somehow mixes in swirls with the brown. It's beautiful.
I remember his touch. He never touched me, but when he touched the other me, i felt it. His hand was warm, all I ever feel is cold. I want that warmth again.
The memory of myself is starting to fade. I don't remember what I was wearing, or anything else. I just know I was there.
And then the memory of who the other girl was fades too. I reach my hand out, trying to grab it back.
I want that memory back more than anything. I want to take it and store. I want to keep that memory. I want to keep that dream.
I want to store it in my room.
But I don't have a room, so I can't.
The dream disappears.
All I remember is this longing for it. And then I start to think.
When you're alive, you can make memories. As many as you want.
But I guess if you were dead, then everything you were doing didn't really happen. Cause dead people can't do things.
So maybe my dream was in the present. Maybe, like I said before I really was awake. And by being awake, I was alive. Being alive, I could make memories. But I'm still dead, so I had to go back to sleep.
And as soon as I do that, my memory isn't real.
So maybe I have to figure out how to stay awake.
Maybe I have to find my room.
But maybe my room is my soul.
And if that's the case, then I'll never find it.
Cause people lose their souls as soon as they die.
And I think it's a little obvious that I'm not alive.