And I can’t get it straight, can’t get it straight, can’t get it straight. And I could be anywhere: orange streetlights and road works. Though my feet tell me this is the way home.
My mind is elsewhere, wrapped cosily in the misunderstanding of the fantastic; my body trapped forever between this surreal, and this reality. I walk with my coat unfastened, wishing the cold of the night to penetrate deep beneath my skin and wake me from my confusion. My skin burns from the cold, but the warm air forced between my skin and clothes causes a tepid friction. I am both gliding and ungainly, walking homeward with certainty, lost with the loss of sugar. My brain is away. I might be dreaming. The cold air upon my face is a distant reminder that I am not.
My eyes capture the light between two separate moments, and they are joined now forever by the sharp glimmer of the camera. The light trails between these moments and scars the image irretrievably. My pulsating mind is the instigator of these scars; the blur in between; the struggle between light and darkness pervading each day, unobserved. My feet break caverns into the ground as I walk, falling deeper; my mind alongside the moon, tethering my palpitating body to its unimaginable heights. A marionette. A patient.
More steps and I am anywhere, unaware and vigilant. My numb fingers try the same key in the lock once, twice. The door will not open, and I am smiling. But somehow again the door is open… the bright light of the hallway permeating my skull; I am pulled sharply from the water, am woken from the extraordinary dream. Suddenly I wish to close my eyes and become reabsorbed into the terrifying unreal. Instead I find the cold comfort of home.