Important Dreams — Joshua Burnett
On a night of very little significance, at a time when children should be dreaming, I was walking along the side of a road, grieving. I did not know for what or why, only that I was, and it hurt. The sky was bright with the divine glow of a full moon, and the surrounding world felt like it was part of a dream, like you could just touch the air and it would rip. I walked past silver toned trees and houses, and tried to stop feeling.
“I shouldn’t be feeling,” I told myself, “I have nothing to feel over, everything is fine.”
And it was true; I had nothing to feel over, for it had been a great day. One of the best in a long time, for I had talked to someone, a friend — maybe. I wasn’t that great with labels, I wasn’t sure if I could call them that. But the title didn’t really matter, because we had talked! I, talked, to them. I spoke words and they listened and responded, to ME. I had a conversation! Thinking back to the moment should've brought some warmth back into my hands. I should’ve smiled at the memory. Instead all it brought was an aching numbness. A… longing. For more. Anything more, just more of that. Of talk. Of getting to have someone's attention when I spoke. Just more of…
No— I shouldn’t have been longing, I should’ve been happy. It should have been enough, it WAS enough, I was just being stupid. I was supposed to be happy, “WHY am I not happy, it was good, it was a good day, I SHOULD be happy, so why, am I like, this.”
My pace quickened from a walk to an angry trot, as I kicked and stamped whatever loose bits of rubble and twigs lay on the pavement.
“This is wrong,” I growled, “I am fine, and I am not doing this, I am not caring, because I shouldn’t, and it is wrong.”
I kept pace, sulking and tromping along as I tried to stop feeling. It was shameful behavior, pouting like a child because I wanted more than I was given, because I couldn’t just be happy with what I had. So what if it wasn’t enough? At least it was something. It could have been like the other times. The times of little significance. The times that could only be described as bad days, or weeks. Today was enough to be satisfied, one conversation was enough to be satisfied.
“And if I wanted to be happy instead?”
*****
Then I’d suck it up, because it didn’t matter what I wanted. I didn’t deserve to be happy. No one was born into this world deserving of anything. The world doesn’t care what you want because what you want is irrelevant. Wanting was for wishes and dreams. And it was stupid, and despicable and sinful that I couldn’t just accept that there was no point in wanting more, because I wasn’t going to get more, nothing is going to happen or change, so I just need to shut the fuck up and deal with it, its pointless, it’s all just.
Just pointless.
And then it ended.
All of it.
The feeling, the emotion, the anger.
It ended.
And I stopped walking. And stopped thinking. About all of it. It really didn’t matter, did it? No one was listening, hearing — even if they were I doubt they’d care, but. They weren't hearing. They weren't here. No one was. There was no music playing, no signal that this was important. At that moment, I was nothing more than some jackass kicking stones and dirt along a road. It didn’t matter. I looked around at where I was. The moon still hung in the sky, yet it had lost its godly shine. The world still bathed in a pale glow, yet it looked less dreamlike. The dream had ended. For that's what this was always about, right? A desperate bid to live out a dream. A dream where I had something worth feeling over. A dream where I could put to words the aches and pains I had, for whatever reason. A dream, where I felt something other than numb. But that feeling was behind me now. And so I did the only thing left to do. I turned around, and began to walk the way I came. And as I walked, I grieved, for everything I cared about, that didn’t matter at all.
Joshua Burnett is a young man in a place that he hopes to someday leave for a better one. He has a deep hatred for unneeded poetics and hypocrites, and a longstanding affection for things that cannot be spoken in words. Though he is currently of little importance, he vows to change that. He eagerly awaits finding a purpose greater than awaiting to find his purpose