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Showcase & Playground

Scattered driftwood on the beach

The notes of a recollection (DTG):

In a dream, Thou asserted a phrase, whilst we attended an exhibit (by the way, in a very ad hoc venue, fitting to the main audio visual conception of Rowling’s wizarding universe, which was being produced on the screen), that ran deep beneath my skin. Something along the lines of “I’m not going to answer (an unuttered query, ’cause I never enunciated it, but one that has been lurking around for an eon), but how about this…” and ein Kuss sealed the memory.

A soul scar was carved in both bitter and sweet strokes, for at least within reverie, at least for a moment, the entwine of thine divine caress, the taste of thine bewithching core, were braid in subconsciously…

And alas, likewise enclosed in said fantasy, the final assertion to the non declared inquiry was brought forth. Should be glad, I think, as the answer, nonetheless aching, provides ground for moving on. The green light to initiate mending, after having to cope with them facts.

That was what it felt in the dream, though, like the final word, like “this is it,” even “be thankful, ’cause ’tis as far as it gets; now let go…”

The non-verbalized avowal.

Now let go…

Will not be easy to pay heed.

Was/is it really a decisive conclusion? Can I trust this delusion translates seamlessly into reality? A fairy tale of der Geist?

Overwhelmed to no end, for actual tears strove to breach in, as I learned it all only befell in my mind.

And tomorrow, when it’s dawning
and the first birds start to sing,
in the pale light of the morning
nothing’s worth remembering.
It’s a dream, it’s out of reach;
scattered driftwood on the beach.

-Summer night city, ABBA

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