Daydreaming: Floating In The Clouds Of Reverie

One that I am afraid to come is that one day you will be nothing but none, the morning where the bed had nothing but the only naked self of mine, the coffee morning where I entered the kitchen nothing had happened, no coffee and roasted breed, no aroma of bacon and egg. Just me alone, entering the gloomy night as a storm, the length of the day seems to overpower the normal. The day where misery and that day happened, I wish there was just a reverie.

I felt the ironic rebound of my karma; I said I will still live happily as if nothing happened as she would leave me, nothing would become staggered. I can live without anyone; I was born with nothing but myself; indeed, I will survive without her in my head. The karma for what I said doesn't depict the reality of the whole being I am today, where I felt nothing but the abstruse and heavy head. The alcohol and the cigarettes were lying everywhere, the night lamp still off even the daybreak was at its peak.

I am miserable and broke; who else I could fool where my place I do live in is the house of mess. The dark and light collide as I do the magic of my spells. The home I build is nothing now but ashes; the wall still presents, but it will crash no matter what. The heavy feeling, where the posture of the furniture will never be in the correct position as I can't sleep.

The messy surroundings and the glimmering thoughts. Just that my misery was so much power to kill me inside and out.

I daydream; I am not sure if still day or night. The light was off, and the window had nothing but shield me from the passible light outside. It could be the result of being weakened I am, unaccepted of the reality, and ignoring everything in the place.

Half suffocated by my thoughts, the what-if scene where what If I did nothing to her, what if I never hurt her feeling, what if I did nothing. The place of mess suddenly turns into a clean and light surrounding. The door opened, and she was there, smiling and making me fall in love with her charms. The smile I knew captivated me from the start—the face of an angel who gave nothing but love. But I am daydreaming; the clean and missing place turns into a tornado, the shabby furniture, the debris and glass of broken frames still all over.

I again lay down on my bed and hugged the pillow beside me. Placing my head in it, then cried. As much I do, I had nothing to make but to stay sub, the willing scene I never think as I do hurt her with my bare hand, I do kill her feelings and love, I am the one who was responsible for her delay. She wasn't her anymore, and my emotions were killing me as he wanted to find the wife of his love.

My soul was fire with sudden wild heavy homesickness.

I am at home, but I do know nothing. This was still a called place of residence; it was the hell of misery, a place of contemplation and regrets. The man-made heavens that were turned to hell, once beautiful and full of love, have nothing but hatred of myself.

The dancing curtains were a picture of flame; I saw her dancing in the gown I gave her for our wedding. The day we loved and always reminisced as our life story started again was reverie—another dreaming and product of my longing heart and mind. I already lose her; the graceful flow of her body wont be mine anymore.

It's not true that the fairy tales will end at the wedding; the wedding will never stay full of love, trust, and kissing; the marriage vow becomes abstract as I point to the views of my self-support.

As I ignored from here, the tragedy of misery is now I am looking into her; the words of love become nothing but curses and profanity. I think I deserved such a thing, and I am a man with no manner. The act of the devil prosecuted me, the forbidden became a comfort, and I ignored the sign.

The forbidden is forbids, but I am not docile, for I was weak that time. Now the misery of karma and all the things I did comes back more intensely than I imagined.

My life now was nothing but reverie; all I could do was a daydream. Part of me hoped and prayed this was the absolute daydream. The bitterness and drowning weren't natural. When I wake up, you are still here beside me in the morning as the lights will shine in our heads to wake us up; that I step up from the kitchen, I won't say anything, yet you offer the best cup of coffee—the life that I dreamed of; the love we shared.

As I said, I am afraid that to come. As I wake up from daydreaming, I will do nothing but love and serve the women I love, give all the things, and treat them like a queen.

But I tried to hurt myself, and I am daydreaming anymore. The house was now hell; I was broken down. Death is near.

END.

*This is fictitious creative written original work of Eunoia, where the world is based on something. I'm back in creatives write; my mood is now fixed, so more to come, thanks for reading…