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The Guardian of DreamsI sit here at a crossroads in time, Staring into the eyes of my lover. I cannot even begin to describe her beauty, and I can only begin to feel the grip of something hidden in the darkness. My head turns, driven by a force that I have felt time and time again. A force so strong no mortal man can evade its strength.
It is the Guardian of Dreams. a formless, shapeless being that wraps itself around every mind on earth. It calls out to me; beckons me to follow. I can see the sadness in my lovers eyes as I am slowly dragged out of my body. I bid her farewell, and I am dragged into a world of splendor and darkness. A world that could never exist, and yet it couldn't not exist.
I am paralyzed; unable to move as I am dragged further and further into my greatest fantasies, feeling every bit of pleasure that the mind can ever create. The Guardian of Dreams knows my favorite tastes, my favorite smells, and my favorite sounds. All at once they assault my mind, creating a reality that I would trap
To Never Forget...They say that a mind that never forgets is a blessing. I say they're wrong. There is no blessing in never forgetting. You can never forget a death. You can never forget those who wronged you. You can never even forget that your own life slowly dwindles before your eyes. Some will tell you, sure, those things you can't forget, but there are other things you can remember. Love, compassion, excitement, the joy of living. All emotions flow hand in hand. It makes us unique; makes us human.
I sit here, alone. Not because I was left; not because I was forgotten, but because I chose. I chose to be alone, a boy secluded from the rest. Sometimes when I tell people this they look at me as though I were mad. They can never comprehend that with a mind like mine it is better to be alone. Sometimes when you feel so much for a single person you wish them only the best of things. There are some things that I just can't give, and that is happiness. Because I can never forget. The pain, the sadness, the
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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