Mirage

I was busy making my bed this morning, still half asleep and visually unable to differentiate between which black goes where. So I just kept my eyes closed and read the textures of each with my fingers, making my bed in the process.

Half of my conscious mind was still caught in the toils of my dream a few minutes earlier .. where I could see you, touch you. My thoughts lingered there, unwilling to face the reality of your absence staring back at me when I open my eyes.


As I put the pillows down, it struck me that it took me years to find myself .. and once I have .. I lost me. How come it is so hard to find me again? Why does it feel as if my shadow is running away from me, leaving me trapped and alone inside this body.

Or is that who I have become: a somebody .. anybody .. nobody?

Hmm, wish I could invite Robert Brault for a cup of coffee and ask him to convince me that ‘Looking back you realize that a very special person passed briefly through your life - and it was you. It is not too late to find that person again.’