Blabberbox » Essays » Happiest MemoryShare on Twitter

Happiest Memory

July 15th, 2018 | Posted by pftq in Essays | #
     The happiest memory in my life is not one I could ever share with anyone else.  Because it isn't a moment from within my real life but instead one from within a dream, a dream that occurred almost ten years ago.

     In that dream, I spent my childhood alongside someone who would race me neck-to-neck as we leapt from rooftop to rooftop before eventually taking to the skies.  If one of us began to fall, we would catch each other and throw ourselves even higher than before, laughing maniacally as we did.  At the end of it all, we'd sit atop the remains of an old wooden post so high up that we could watch the sun set, not against the land or water but against the sky itself, the ocean of clouds below reflecting its descent like a mirror facing up against the heavens.

     The sensation of flying is something that would recur throughout my dreams.  It felt more natural to me than any movement on the ground.  It took effort instead not to float upward and drift away.  Usually in a dream, things are foggy, blurred, but here it was always clear, vivid, every one of my five senses fully sharpened and awake - the landscape I could see stretching into the horizon no matter how far and how fast I went, the rustling of leaves in the air around me, the feeling of weightlessness pushing me away from the Earth so long as I kept my mind clear and let myself go.

     When I wake now, I feel heavy, weighed down, pinned on my back, unable to move, as if I had fallen.  The vividness, the wind in my ears, the rush of adrenaline, all of it replaced with the dull, hazy colors, the constant humming, the emptiness.  A life I never had but which felt more real than any moment I've woken to.  A sense of freedom so great I have felt nothing but shackled ever since.  Sometimes I turn around expecting to see the person I grew up with, only to become disoriented when there's no one there.  The pain is frustratingly indescribable.  Reality just seems a poor imitation of a memory I could never relive, a place I could never revisit, a time that doesn't even exist.
81 unique view(s)

Leave a Comment

Name: (Have an account? Login or Register)
Email: (Won't be published)
Website: (Optional)
Comment:
Enter the code from image: