Scaling the zeroes and infinites..

That second seemed to land at the apt fixture. A fixture, that was slyly pre-mapped, and shoved into my life. BULL’s EYE! The second landed… And I open my eyes... There were butterflies everywhere. And there was this alpha mind of mine, gazing at them nonchalantly, like the whole world comprised of nothing but them. Everything that had felt preposterous just microseconds before the second burst in, achieved clarity.

How can anyone open their eyes to a dream? I did.

Every mirror I looked at, screamed the word “impeccable” out aloud. It wasn't the mirror. I am no Snow White. It was my alpha mind bellowing precariously in my head. YES, flattery is purportless always. But, add a “self” to anything; it gives out red warning signals, marking the onset of devastating failures. The feather headed goddess residing within me, better known as  “Unsatisfaction”.. She just laughed ruthlessly at my random thoughts, tearing down every piece of confidence I carried within myself. Can’t say whether confidence is the right word. It was something different. Audacity of a certain kind, I should say; which made me shut down the outlets I used to turn to, for comfort. How reckless it made me. After being the rebellious queen of detachment, I chose to turn into a mere fool. I cradled a monster. End of story. That one thought swept the others away.

It was time to wake up. I closed my eyes, and woke up. Light came gliding in through the tidbits of the stains in the glass window of the confinement I had chosen to thrive in; ‘room’, the others call it. The butterflies still fluttered at the back of my head. I wiped off the tiny beads of perspiration, loftily perched at my forehead. Chennai felt like Egypt at that moment. It was excessively hot and bright, for a Sunday morning. Mind flashes. Cleopatra, her pomegranate juice lipstick, my hair gracefully cascading down my shoulders, the placid rustle of leaves.. the winds seemed guilty of waking me up. I liked that. 

As soon as I was fully conscious, the butterflies vanished. They had stayed longer in my dream. I was just cooing my little monster in the dream. In reality, I let it breastfeed, suck at my happiness with entire consent. That’s when I realized. Dreams are longer and realities are shorter. Dreams are beautiful and realities, they are harsh. They are as far away from one another as all the zeroes and infinities that ever existed. Yet, it’s the realities that are expected to be substantially impactful, not the dreams.

At that moment, I stopped scrutinizing. I pulled the blankets over myself and woke up to another dream.