In bed..

On a night like this when dreams just refuse to take you on their mystical subconscious journey, my mind floats among images and faces, remembers places and comments, words that have no meaning now, but meant the world for me long time ago. This mixture and me – we are like the heroes of James Joyce’s imagination- we crash and separate and meet again. And these sleepless nights obediently follow the paths of my right brain: “where is he going to take us tonight?" May be back home at my father’s house where I would sit on the terrace on a hot summer day and wait for the heat to melt down the afternoon hours. May be back to the forest of my hometown where we would spend long nights in laughter and desire making first brave steps into puberty. Or I would just be sipping whiskey in a pub, talking to my lovers, tossing pebbles in the lake. Those sleepless nights and their stream of consciousness! They come so fast and embrace my peace with hours-long wandering. Their trail seems to be lost in seconds and never to be found again.