Just the Cat's Pyjamas

This isn't real. None of this is real.  These memories aren't mine. Who put them in my head? Why are they here? How did they get here? Who owns these memories? A pulse of electrical energy. A spark. It pulses again. A pulse. My pulse. Tick. Tick tick. Tick tick tick. The tick tick ticking of the veins across my feeble hands catches my attention for a moment.  My hands? Are these my hands? They seem alien, and somehow foreign. This isn't real. None of it. It's not real. None of it is real. I woke up this morning in this body. This form. This frame. This fat sallow skin. Is this my body? Do I belong in this sad sack of meat and muscle and electricity? I woke up this morning inside this body. Is it mine? None of it seems familiar. It's all so alien and strange. Is this my life? Do I know these people? Are these my thoughts? Are these my memories? My habits and routines? Where did all this mess in my brain come from, exactly? Who put this in my head? None of it is famil...

"If I say your voice is an amber waterfall in which I yearn to burn each day, if you eat my mouth like a mystical rose with powers of healing and damnation, if I confess that your body is the only civilization I long to experience - would it mean that we are close to knowing something about love?" • Aberjhani --------------------------- Time is an illusion. In this place, there is only you and me. I had a dream. A dream where I was flying, flying high above you. A dream where you and I could soar together. I loved you. Our story should have been epic. Love without end. Magic and mystery unfolding across the millennia, the tale of one soul in two bodies. That should have been our story, that should have been our song. What is this place? Is this real? Is any of this real? The storm crashes all around us. A deluge of panic and fear. I tumble to the earth. The sky grows black with anger and dread. We reach out our hands, searching for one another in the darkness. Love? They say ...

"For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love." • Carl Sagan ------------------------------ I remember being sixteen and in love. Love was so tragic then. So final. I really thought that I knew it all. I remember when my dad took my notebooks. I was so traumatized. I remember hiding notes in my room. I was so torn. So confused. HER or HER? HER or HIM? I remember dancing. The treehouse. Watching a mother duck. Listening to Ricky Martin. Was I really that intense? I remember walking home from the library. Cross dressers coming to church. Blue boots. I remember bonfires and music and the Geo and class rings. I don't feel like that could have been me. I am not that person. Am I? I often wonder where I would be if I made a different choice. Would I be happier? Would I be miserable? Would I be me? What would have happened to the people I love now? How many of them would I have never known?  Some days I long for the tragic intensity of my youth. I w...