Iris

The dawn is breaking as a life was withering away. There was a scent that filled the air, slightly sharp but relieving. A strange mixture of a delicately foreign note that is both addictive and unnoticeable in due time as it fades. The sun that will rise to bring forth a new day will be the end of the calmness of the night. The permeating heat will be the death of the cooling mist and along with it the life of this elusive creature.

In the depths of my slumber, I heard a voice calling for me. It was strangely familiar but I could not place it anywhere in my memory. Could this be a dream? Then it will not be something that I could remember anymore as soon as I wake up. Do I even want to remember? Possibly. I am curious. The mind is a strange place. I am aware that it is there but it seemed so distant that I could not even grasp on a simple memory of a place, a name, or a voice. At this moment, I was stuck in the middle, between the waking and the sleeping.

The limbo of the mind.

Then that would make the mind either Paradise or the Inferno.

Like every other person, I have been down the path of my mind several times. In my dreams, of course, it was the only known way for me to access my subconscious. Though I know that every time I wake up, I will only recall bits and pieces, or nothing at all, having that same dream of physically being in that strange place is something that I would pray for each night before going to sleep, despite there was no guarantee that I can recall everything when I wake up.

Then I do not want to wake up. If it means that I could lose that memory, I do not want to wake up. Let me stay here in this border. I do not want to get up and not remember who I am. I would rather sleep forever than to wake up to another day nameless, with no history to claim as my own, no principle to hold onto, no reason that I must fight for.