Oneiro (Dream)

That’s what it was, a dream. It was an inkling of the future glimpsed in the hazy vein of intoxication, which coupled with wild euphoria, heightened emotions to near absurdity. Cantankerous misery swiftly followed as did the alcohol tolerance that swirls maniacal in the stomach. The bi-polar mania of emotions set the precedence for the roller coaster ride through hell and back; detailing the finest hours of unrequited love, only to be soberly doused by the riddance of giddy hallucinatory affections, and the somber iciness of realty’s return. This night’s mania can be compared to a fleeting kiss, so succulently sweet in it’s departing glory, yet too soon forgotten in the miasma of the night. Follow this all up with the inability to properly articulate this fine jumble of emotions, and it’s as though I were smote deaf and mute simultaneously-- left to flounder around in near incoherent idiocy. Fallen like the crisp leaves that signified it as Autumn’s night, spirits buoyed and sank, logic flew Amelia-style around the world, and by night’s end the whirlwind maelstrom that is this random life subsided into pitifully acute loneliness.

It isn’t every day where the spectrum of human feeling is ever pushed into the red, and in those rare occasions where the thermometer reads dangerous numbers back at you, it is those evanescent seconds where we truly feel alive. For the remainder of the worker bees monotonous days, we while away into obscurity. So it all was rather dream-like, especially in retrospect, yet the bitter sweetness of it all has refused to fade. The vibrancy replete with the misgivings of youth, and more so the rampant miscommunication that fuels a majority of our interactions lends this encounter true lasting power. For it is in these few moments where we can actually feel the visceral pull of life on this earth, the tugging of Gaea at our cores, that lets us know how limited our time here truly is. As though we were seismically linked to the ebbs and flows of the cosmos, these rare epiphany scenes are the closest we come to Shangri-la. It all fades in a blur of jargon and a smattering of static, yet the precious few scraps we retain shall forever taint us with the knowledge of something grander in this life.

This is all taking about love, and the rarity of experiencing it in the emotionally rich soil of your adolescence. In the lush garden of these years, the soft pattering of snow on a window can become the avalanche of apocalypse, or the purest poetry that none but you can ever appreciate. It is a gift that fades far too quick, a temptress of the night where for once in our lives we are thoroughly capable of running free with the wilderness inside us all. We are conduits to the chemical world of pheromones and unspoken emotions, mixing together in the volatile nature that is our youth.

It was all a dream-–that overwhelming sense of euphoria that imbued every muscle with Everest climbing resiliency, and made blood flow voracious through the entirety of my being. To those chimerical days, to that phantasmal night, may you forever take me captive in the imaginative powers that have long since withered dry in the barren wasteland of adulthood. May we forever ride the wings of our infinite dreams.