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Never let that dirty game of dreaming fully recapture me

The news about the abrupt passing without any forewarn, of our neighbor, formerly the architect or at least instigator of the Woesome Wall but to define him that way now would lift cruelty to a level even a resentful fellow like myself would waver for, because one should weep loudest instead for this passing of time and pick lilacs, why wouldn’t they be still in bloom, brought back to me an urgent but forsaken conviction of not to live ahead, or better, to never let that dirty game of dreaming fully recapture me.

The last time I personally witnessed snappy spokes being brutally shoved into wild whirling wheels like that was when my beloved mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s around the same time my father was finally able to put his demanding job to sleep and settle with her, planning to travel with her and do all that they could not do together before. I guess I never truly processed the malignancy of that interruption and what it meant to my father, as usual too obsessed with saving my own personal perception of reality, but the years after that were filled with caring for her by simply being there and spending the passing time together to beat fears and frights about our future, provided a solid base for life in general and a determined fixation to stay in the present as much as possible.

Truly tragic occurrences have a tendency to shake up my most common daily practices through the inevitable change they cast ahead, elusive but already fully present in its eeriness and pretty hard to ignore. With Ivory I’ve been thoroughly debating this vague hunch we both have had for a while now of unpleasant things to come, an annoying buzz underneath our otherwise joyful days and by validating it with our words it might gain momentum, so those conversations usually end in soothing sounds of silence.

Les Pierres’ gardens unsurprisingly and unmistakably have a more sophisticated way of putting my weary heart at ease, providing ample opportunity to conjure the miserably missing sun onto our dinner plates daily, making me forget for a moment summer hasn’t properly settled and prevent me from desperately doubting that will be corrected anytime soon.

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