The stories I imagine and tell as part of narrative I choose to, also, live
I tell them well and somewhere amidst articulation I start believing them myself
For instance, I recently imagined this
Instead of hypochondriac you are a magic wizard
You read my mind, tolerate my friends,
Enchantingly your mood remains even
There is no awkward, no misunderstood, no friendship season
(that’s followed by a season when – we shouldn’t talk!)
Just joyous endlessness and no such thing as reason
And when you kiss me there is no need to breathe
This made up tale has a time limit. Why waste it on banalities like air.
(though here, most will chime in and say – this is too saccharine, alas! A typical affair)
But this is fabled and after all, it is my story. So I go on…
You don’t get offended at my lack of manners, insolence
Instead you laugh and say, I know you didn’t mean it.
You use your powers for good. Three dogs is not too many to adopt…
We rent a loft to hide from life in.
We teleport from Paris to New York.
We love same films, same books and talk about them till morning.
Instead of lectures on the harm of lack of sleep, you suddenly decide that health is boring
(too sweet again? I really am sorry)
My own power is memories. Though fairytale ones get jumbled up with true-life tales.
All those who love me keep repeating – your problem lies in lack of barriers.
Why get so close, so fast? You burn through love, they say…
I burn through love, I burn through stories, I burn through barriers.
I make things up, I take them back, I promise they are real. I promise to myself they are
So I keep dreaming, so I keep feeling, until Another comes and makes me breathless
Makes me fearless.
And then I make him up into a wizard. Or I will make him up from scratch, one day
About him I will invent another story. And all of you, as always, will believe me.