|I suppose what I am really afraid of is certainly not disappointing but realizing your dreams.|
(ii. further nightmares)
Whether in nightmares or dreams, I do think of you often, dear Reader. Lately Ive been trying harder than ever to remember you, although the Doctor cautions me against this. She believes that thinking of you will make me worse. I am not convinced. I am sure now that its not that you remind me of someone, like I thought before. Its that you are someone very important to me.
So now, more than before, I want to remember how exactly we met, what you might look like, or the color of your eyes anything that will solidify our friendship. I believe that you, too, wear this covering over your eyes, these expressions of trust and hysteria. Yours is a similar history of happiness and sadness, memories and time. We share so much, Im sure. Perhaps, sometimes, you also breathe the coldness of nightmares.
The Doctor has refused to tell me anything about you. She says its not important to dwell on the present if I cant remember the past. What an absurd way to think! She ignores the smile on my face and the rainbows in my head. She ignores them because they are the easiest to see, because they happen right now in front of her. She is a historian and a scientist, and so is only interested in the past and the future. She is not concerned with the present. Really, how could I have expected the Doctor to say anything else?
What I want most when I leave this hospital is to sleep again. There is no hospital bed that is truly comfortable. Whichever way I toss or turn in bed, I lose something. Some memory that the Doctor prizes, a date or a name, slips through the sheets. And even the forgettings I do remember all these things that Im sure you also remember have become more infrequent lately.
Nevertheless, I continue to believe that it is all for the best. Who needs to remember the unimportant things? I would only become like the Doctor, worrying always about the hands turning on the clock. Instead, Im far more interested in the turnings of sky. I am like a wandering star, perhaps. My mind is letting go of these memories that I no longer need. It makes way for newer dreams and, complimentary with it this part I do not understand larger nightmares.
I still have dreams about you, dear Reader, and about that day we met. They are more blurry than the other dreams, but I will try to tell you about them in time. We are connected in some way, so I know I can trust your memories, too. To be honest, what I hope for sometimes is that you will disagree with me. Perhaps you will tell me that this world is nothing like I say. Maybe everyone is always looking out for everyone else. Maybe all these inventions have some softer use that I just dont see. I suppose what I am really afraid of is certainly not disappointing but realizing your dreams.