Speeding down the road, the mind races with questions about this decision and its justifications, but if termination is inevitable then there is no purpose in wading through the dense sea of irritated drivers. Furthermore, something else has occurred, like the light switch that kick-started creation. The burden of daily drudgery has finally broken its precipice and tumbled, but rather than allow this to cause collapse into demise, it has alleviated the weights that hindered the spreading of wings to soar away from this dismal existence. An idea to leave behind everything of the past, excluding only the current surroundings, and evolving into something greater and more fulfilling, much like a butterfly giving up its ground crawling ways to grow wings and fly. There is only one need from the past, the one thing that will be strived for to help with this process, something that will help to create this new existence.
The wind seems to be pushing the vehicle as if it has become invigorated by this decision. With the windows down it howls in applause and sings a sweet melody of approval. Upon arrival at the domicile, the car is left running outside, while this intermediate mission is accomplished. Inside the article is quickly identified and procured; a profound sense of joy is felt in this occurrence. The feeling that this is something worthwhile is consuming, spreading like a drug through the bloodstream, causing the fingertips to tingle and respiration to become more rapid. It is the picture of the young female, the same female from the dream, the one person that has been sought after for so long without any knowledge. She has transcended a mortal existence becoming something spiritual and enigmatic. No, not becoming, she has always been. It is not her that is changing. Her being has remained dormant all this time, until the right moment when the two paths would collide in a brilliant crash. Is this destiny? That seems to be the only explanation for a scene such as this. If it is destiny then there was never a choice in the matter, and somehow this event had to occur. This idea is a double edged sword because it makes one feel out of control of the decisions of life, and that some outside puppet master is pulling all of the strings, but on the other hand it is comforting to know that some reciprocal part has been created to fill all of the subtle empty spots in this existence.
These two beings begin on separate paths that converge to a point and merge into one. It is comforting to know that loneliness will always be temporary. Some might ask about those that never find their destiny and wind up alone and miserable? From a mortal perspective this is a most distressing idea, but one that shouldn’t be the cause of so much worry and vein searching. Life has no beginning or end, like energy it can neither be created nor destroyed; it is a continuum, constantly changing its states with each passing lifetime. In the same way love holds no boundaries within such a human idea as time, it exists and longs to be found throughout existence. Though the paths may take many lifetimes to converge, eventually they become one and create bliss unlike any dream. It is true that one day the bliss must end because of the beginning and ending of life cycles, but no matter how far the paths separate, they will always converge again in their own cycle. Looking at the picture, no more thought to the future is necessary because the knowledge of what needs to be done is already inborn, and the car speeds back off into the night towards the horizon, with a blissful tune in the air.
The city lights begin to fade in the background and as they do the amount of stars in the sky grows and grows until there seems to be more sparkling white than velvety black. Shades of purple and red provide the backdrop in the cloudy atmosphere of the Milky Way. Times like these make a convertible car the most useful because one can feel as though she is surrounded by the night sky, instead of only being able to admire it through the dimensions of a few small windows. Traveling eastward the shoreline is a long way away, but the sudden decisions and realizations have provided the energy necessary for such a journey. Fatigue will surely be ignored tonight through sheer excitement of new ideals. No amount of caffeine or any other stimulating drug could provide the sensation of accomplishment. It is a high that cannot be made by man synthetically, but is produced only naturally through actions.
By fulfilling some sort of self-important duty, the mind goes into a type of euphoric state in which it feels invincible and able to tackle anything. Perhaps this is why those who create tend to create much. Their accomplishments give them the energy and ability to achieve more and more, while the person who allows himself to stagnate never amounts to anything. It seems that action is the key to all advancement; it is the only thing that makes any sense. This must be why the toil of daily work rituals has been going on so long, and why misery has been the pervading emotion for many years. Never was any action taken to change it, to attempt to create something new or participate in something different. Just like Immanuel Kant had his reading of David Hume to awaken him out of his “dogmatic slumber”, that one incident of immense frustration seems to have jumpstarted a dormant mind full of desire, but stuck in neutral. Looking over the picture of the girl can be seen and her words are repeated over and over, “Où es-tu m'amour? Pourquoi m'as-tu trouvé encore?” The image of her lips speaking those words is still vivid and drives itself even further into the mind in this state. The accelerator is pressed to the floor and the powerful 8-cylinder engine roars as the car gives an inertial lurch and speeds off into the night, while the words, “I’m coming for you love. Don’t worry. I’ll find you…” are spoken and trail off behind the car.
Somewhere far off, across an ocean, a soft breeze is blowing through the window of a single room apartment and tossing the piceous hair of the femme des rêves. Wrapped in a blanket she sits alone in her room reading to herself aloud as she so often is found doing. This habit of reading aloud has made her the subject of much abuse throughout her lifetime because of petty children, and even adults who could be considered children, who think that this makes her slow or unable to comprehend the words. In all truth she prefers the words spoken rather than thought because in this way she is able to speak the words of the characters and thus place herself more into their position, feeling the emotions that course from the author’s pen onto the page. It is therapy for her, this nightly reading. Doing things in this way allows her to escape the drivel of day-to-day life and place herself in some extravagant situation or in the arms of someone who truly cares about her.
At times the situations can become so real that she finds herself genuinely in love with the characters, only to be heartbroken when the final page is turned and the story is over. The breeze caresses the curves of her neck and wraps itself around her nape slithering its way down her back. A cold chill creeps up her spine and she is startled by the tingling sensation, like electricity, throughout her body. The pupils of her eyes dilate causing the brilliant green to become not much more than a sliver around the deep black pool of her pupil. Standing up she shivers and walks towards the window to look out at the night sky.
The air outside has an odd sensation within it, and she feels as if something is changing. Looking upwards at the stars, a certain pattern seems picked out and chosen to be brighter than the rest. What the pattern is isn’t discernable, but she notices it just the same and mumbles softly as she returns to the chair to resume her reading. Though she is usually so entwined with her book’s storyline that nothing can disturb her, tonight she is mysteriously elsewhere. Unable to pinpoint why everything is different on this night her face scrunches into a confused expression. Seeing this look upon her face in the mirror she begins to laugh at herself because of the ridiculousness of both her uncalled for anxieties and the pout she is making.
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