WriteMyke

I had a dream the other night that I had no eyes. I couldn’t get over that image. The feeling was panic mixed with shock, yet overall, it was uncanny. It was so mystifying, in fact, that I spent the whole day being revisited with vivid flashbacks. It wasn’t as if my eyes were seemingly airbrushed away from my appearance. I had open cavities on my face. Disturbing. I could even recall the feeling of cool air pressing itself within the center of my head much like a breeze crossing over your eyes. The event was so astounding that I found it gripping my attention sporadically throughout my day. I never even stopped to ask myself how I saw myself with no eyes. Peculiar how a dream that was holding my subconscious captive all day could stall thought like a rhetorical question when seen at a different angle. Rather than why, but, now, how? I saw myself in a mirror. I know that; I remember seeing that. I know that I shouldn’t consciously ponder what my subconscious does, I doubt that’...

I may have reached the point in my life when the pictures that are taken of me right now will no longer be approached with the “look how young I was” response in the future. They, instead, may very well be met with the “I still had hair then” nostalgia. That reality is deafening. I love Nostalgia, I’ve been in a perpetual state of it most of my life but I also love my hair. I don’t know how to cope with this. There are a lot of things that are worse and I feel like a child that’s not getting their way but I’m not ready to be faced with my mortality and that’s what this represents. I’ve always been fond of my hair, since I could remember. Matter of fact, since before I could remember. My mother told me of the first time I got my haircut. Don’t mistake this for the times before when my mum got my haircut. This was the first time I got to direct it. Apparently, the hair stylists thought I was a riot. I’d have numbers for individual strands of hair and specific lengths. I made up my ow...