Of dreams, blades and emptiness
I woke up in a cold sweat, with my mind drowned in the images of the previous night’s dream – feeling strangely calm. “No, it isn’t acceptable to me. Father cannot leave like this.” I found myself saying this out loud, in an even tone, with a intent expression on my face. Running... Runnning back to father, before it is too late. Reaching and seeing his smiling face. This was a respite from the usual nightmares, the same every time – seeing Father dying. At least I had seen him smile. But it had become harder and harder to deal with the vivid images, because I knew they were just apparitions of my mind – somehow false, as though someone were fooling me. That day was the last straw – there was nothing else to keep me from the emptiness. When grief is gone, there is just deep, dark emptiness. Devoid of colour, sound or warmth, like the cold motionless heart I laid my hand on five months ago. There are no more tears - just an odd, desolate disconnection every time I t