Fondue of Dreams (2)

In one twinkling of an eye, the swarthy night, together with this stinking air of estrangement, has been replaced by an amicable beam of sunshine overhead and some mild puffs of draught tinted with a fresh odour of wild grass.

Had I been granted a wish, he thinks, I would have been pleased to be a permanent sojourner here. The park where he now sits on the lawn crossing his legs is so nostalgic. He knows it is his dream, a dream that is never realisable. This sandwich which his right hand is holding, he knows, is intangible. His five senses are probably coated with hallucination, for reality is always cruel while dream is always wonderful. But an inborn sentimentalist, he must submit himself to his impregnable fantastic sensation.

‘Are you tired?’ he hears a voice nearby.

He denies it, while raising his head to find from whomever this lovable voice was made. Startled and exultant, he sees his Alice again, and when his eyes finally meet hers, she naturally blushes in crimson that bears close semblance of the colour of a maple leaf. How lovely, he screams loudly in his heart, and begins to caress her hair as soft as a marshmallow.

Clocks, watches, any devices which can tell the time are useless. He does not know, and does not even want to know what time it is. Time is, after all, invented to make men understand how short life is, and how excruciatingly more sorrow they indeed experience than happiness.

But maybe, maybe the feelings of sorrow are obligatory to impress an immortal mark of happiness which he now feels in its extreme when she leans right into his right shoulder. No more words thus are needed, for every syllable pronounced merely produce the twaddle-twaddle.

Let me dream this good dream forever, he prays so strongly that others might wrongly think that he is a devout. But no. He isn’t. But he will be a convert if someone or something almighty enough to grant his wish which soon melts and descends into a night of darkness and loneliness. The “DRINK ME” potion has now lost its effect; like Alice cannot in her dream forever stays, he has to leave. Re-unveiling his eyes, he perceives that everything first appears opaque and translucent, then brighter and clearer to him: Heaps of paper stand like Himalaya in his front. His boss shoots him a look of exasperation, and it is time, he realizes, for endurance of the hell with equanimity.

[To Be Continued]

[First written on 23rd December, 2015; edited on 27th May, 2016]

[Photo taken by James on 2nd March, 2015]


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