It's easy to see now that they were all only fantasies. My hopes and my dreams were ever present but ever changing. I was like a sylph, flitting between what was going to make me rich, make me famous, or just make me happy.
(more) I failed in all three. I came close with the first two, I was a minor celebrity in my local dramatic group. I got some small parts in for a low budget soap on TV, I appeared on a sitcom which garnered me a few TV adverts. It afforded me a small bit of luxury. I had my own place and the time to enjoy it. I had friends that were impressed by my other friends.
But it was temporary. Fame is fleeting and so were the people who were part of it. The scene is only a facade for desperate people who want to hold onto something they don't possess for as long as possible. You can't control the ephemeral.
I'm not complaining. I had the time of my life. I was young and I was having fun. But like all indulgences, it didn't provide me with anything permanent or anything good.
Why am I telling you all this? I don't know. I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. I know I had it better than most people. And I'm not going to claim that I suffered more because I lost more than most. It is what it is.
I suppose I'm just lamenting on what could have been. I don't know what I would have done differently. I don't know what changes I might make if I lived it all again.
I think I just wished I had made more of what I had when I had it.
The worst thing about distance is dreaming. Last night i saw you here, i saw you, here. You were with me and i held your hand as we curled together tight-close-safe-warm on the sofa, and i felt like those triliobites, millions and millions of years old, rolling up tight,(more) tight to protect themselves (as woodlice do), my armour on the outside, my fragile self protected. I am glad you are not a triliobite, but when i awake and you are not there, the scent of your hair is gone (soft, it smells like the shampoo you use and the bed we sleep in, short, i cannot run my fingers through it with your absence) the ghost of your hands tracing spirals down my front echoes around my awareness (there is a slender space around my head it is dark grey and ripples the morning) but it is not real.
I never thought i would miss solidity so much. For years i have glared at this mortal form, this limitation. I do not know what you are supposed to do with a body (it is so thin how can i breathe the horizon how can i hold the breath of the skies) it is a mass, a format, it gets in the way. Other forms brush past my own, they contain beings also and i recognise them, i don't like their contact... O! O! For A Body That Is My Own it is a truly confusing thing.
Except? for yours. I did not know how to fit myself around you (our legs were tangled, my nose pressed into your neck) but i wanted that. You were warm and you shone So Finely in this clattering plane. I remember your touch, I remember my dreams, (I want you here with me),(less)