(no subject)
Oct. 4th, 2010 04:17 pmHad my session at the hospital today and told her about the mistake in going to see Inception.
But it wasn't her who helped me out.
It was in he cafeteria, between meetings. I was having a coffee and people watching when a guy sat down beside me. He said he'd seen me here the past few weeks and that I had some of the saddest eyes he had ever seen. I just smiled and continued drinking my coffee and let him buy me another.
He was there visiting his mother, who some days didn't even recognize him. She was dying, everyone knew it, but he wanted to make sure she didn't go alone. That's when I told him about dad and after that, everything else cam pouring out and I mentioned the movie.
He said it wasn't a good choice when I was feeling like this and then we were both silent.
Then he asked me for a moment of trust and I nodded my head yes and he led me outside. We didn't go far, just over to a pond I didn't know was nearby. And there, we watched as the frost slowly melted off the surface as time sped to noon. And as I watched the water and felt myself drift he told me to close my eyes and listen. He said listen for all those little sounds your never pay attention to.
Listen for the cars.
Listen for the birds.
Pay attention to the conversations around you.
Listen to your heartbeat.
Listen to the footsteps that walk beside you.
Hear them.
REALLY hear them and know that no one mind can create all that on it's own.
Know that if this isn't reality, if I am truly dreaming, then I'm not doing it alone.
I went up with him to see his mother and listened to him make up fantastic stories. I heard his voice, and the slow rasp of his mother's breathing. I heard the nurses talk and a patient shout. I heard a little child laugh and the beeping of hundreds of machines.
And I smiled because things are a lot less scary when your're not alone.
When he said good-bye, he brushed a kiss across my forehead and then on my nose. Then he walked away.
And I turned away before I could see whether he was real or simply another dream.
Sometimes, I think it doesn't really matter.
But it wasn't her who helped me out.
It was in he cafeteria, between meetings. I was having a coffee and people watching when a guy sat down beside me. He said he'd seen me here the past few weeks and that I had some of the saddest eyes he had ever seen. I just smiled and continued drinking my coffee and let him buy me another.
He was there visiting his mother, who some days didn't even recognize him. She was dying, everyone knew it, but he wanted to make sure she didn't go alone. That's when I told him about dad and after that, everything else cam pouring out and I mentioned the movie.
He said it wasn't a good choice when I was feeling like this and then we were both silent.
Then he asked me for a moment of trust and I nodded my head yes and he led me outside. We didn't go far, just over to a pond I didn't know was nearby. And there, we watched as the frost slowly melted off the surface as time sped to noon. And as I watched the water and felt myself drift he told me to close my eyes and listen. He said listen for all those little sounds your never pay attention to.
Listen for the cars.
Listen for the birds.
Pay attention to the conversations around you.
Listen to your heartbeat.
Listen to the footsteps that walk beside you.
Hear them.
REALLY hear them and know that no one mind can create all that on it's own.
Know that if this isn't reality, if I am truly dreaming, then I'm not doing it alone.
I went up with him to see his mother and listened to him make up fantastic stories. I heard his voice, and the slow rasp of his mother's breathing. I heard the nurses talk and a patient shout. I heard a little child laugh and the beeping of hundreds of machines.
And I smiled because things are a lot less scary when your're not alone.
When he said good-bye, he brushed a kiss across my forehead and then on my nose. Then he walked away.
And I turned away before I could see whether he was real or simply another dream.
Sometimes, I think it doesn't really matter.