As I was unloading the car, I noticed a bag that looked familiar. As I opened it, I saw a gift I once bought him. Not understanding why it was there, I stood up and looked towards the house. There he was, in the kitchen, cooking. How beautiful and melancholic this feeling was. He looked, happy.
Next moment he came outside, and asked if I was ready for dinner. His voice calm, so different from all my other dreams of him. No trace of anger. As I turned to walk towards him, I awoke.
-----
It has been 7 years. I wonder if the world is treating him well, if he has found a place for himself.
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I was at a sleepover with my brother and a couple of his friends, and as we are about to lay down to rest, I notice that my ex is lying besides me. I have no idea why he was there, but I saw his hand and for some reason I reached out and started stroking it. He knew it was me, and kinda pointed me to rub his arm or leg or something - something else than his hand.
As we lay there, I started talking, softly cautiously, just sweet nothings. It took a while, but he started responding. It was mostly about the last 6 years and what has happened in that time. As time progressed, I slowly pulled him into my arms, with him little spooning. I just held him there.
-----
Of course, it is only in my dreams that I ever get to touch him. To feel him, to know that he is real and that it wasn't a made up story - albeit, this was a dream, and so it plays tricks on my mind again. I still remember the lingering warmth and comfort the dream gave me. Luckily, the dream didn't end in an argument or him leaving as what usually happens in our dreams.
It has been 6 years since I last spoke to him. Happy belated Birthday Angel (7-feb).
Read the following story with the voice of Detective Fingerling (The Number 23).
Shadows of Solace
In a dimly lit room, illuminated only by the soft glow of a computer screen, a man sits hunched over his desk. The weight of life evident in the furrows of his brow. He's no ordinary man. In his mid-thirties, shadows of the past haunt him, yet the screen provides an escape, a refuge. Words flow, like the cascading rain on a stormy night, each letter carrying a piece of another world, a realm where reality and imagination intertwine. The light from the screen dances in his eyes, revealing a man desperate for an escape, an anchor in the storm of his own mind.
Behind every word, there's a story, a character, an adventure, all of them conjured up from the depths of his soul. They're not mere figments of imagination. They're his lifeline. Each line typed is a tether, pulling him back from the brink of his own spiraling thoughts.
Around him, the world could crumble, but in front of that screen, he's a god, crafting tales for his friends to immerse themselves in. Tales of heroism, of love, of danger. The game, his canvas. And through these stories, not only does he offer an escape for himself but for others too. A shared dream, where they can all forget their troubles, if only for a little while.
You might say the computer is his salvation, the game his therapy. Every click, every word, a step away from the madness that threatens to consume him. In this world, he is not alone. And neither are those who join him on his quests.
Ghosts of Regret
The room, awash in the blue tint of the computer's glow, tells a story of solitude. A man, his features bearing the rugged passage of time, sits immersed, every ounce of his being consumed by the world materializing in front of him. The stream of words on the screen are not just words; they're lifelines, portals into a world where he wields the power of creation.
His fingers dance across the keyboard, each tap echoing the rhythm of his heartbeat. The narrative unravels, painting a universe that others would soon navigate, experience, and perhaps even find solace in. Every character and every plot twist is a reflection of his own inner battles, aspirations, and the fragments of dreams he’s clutched onto through the stormy seas of life.
For some, it might seem just a game. A fleeting distraction. But for him, this realm of fantasy is an anchor, a sanctuary. In a world that constantly threatens to push him over the edge, it serves as the glue holding together the fragments of his fractured psyche.
In the silence of the room, the words pouring forth are his symphony, his shield against the encroaching darkness. Through the game, he connects, he feels, he survives. And for those few hours when his friends dive into the world he's crafted, he's not alone in the battle. Together, they find clarity amidst the chaos, a shared respite from the relentless tumult of reality.
Echoes of Heartbreak
The door creaks softly, and the ambiance of the room subtly shifts. From the shadows, emerges a figure, cradling a steaming cup of tea, the gentle aroma weaving through the air, a silent promise of warmth. This isn't just anyone – it's his anchor in the real world, the man who knows the depths of his soul.
As he nears the desk, the ambient light catches the tenderness in his eyes, eyes that have seen the battles, both inside and outside, and chosen to stay. Setting the tea down with a muted clink, his hand moves, ghost-like, to caress the tensed shoulders before him. Each touch, a balm, each stroke, a silent vow.
Drawing closer, he leans in, lips meeting temple in a fleeting yet profound kiss – an echo of shared memories, of silent understandings. Words, though whispered, carry the weight of the universe: assurances, endearments, and promises of forever. It's the language of souls intertwined, a dance of hearts in synchrony.
With a final brush of fingers against skin, he drifts towards the bed, leaving behind a world of fantasy and diving into another - one of shared dreams, of love, and of quiet moments that hold the promise of eternity. And in that room, with keystrokes and whispered nothings, two worlds coexist: one of stories and one of love, each providing sanctuary in its own unique way.
Crossroads of Despair
In the quiet cocoon of the room, a sharp intake of breath disrupts the stillness. The man's eyes snap open, terror momentarily eclipsing the familiar glint. As he sits up, the sheets fall away, revealing a heart that beats faster, fueled by the remnants of a dream that felt too real, too close.
For a fleeting second, hope paints a picture. He turns, almost instinctively, yearning for the warmth, the touch, the love he thought was beside him. But the cruel emptiness that greets him tells a tale of loss, of wounds that haven’t quite healed.
Across the room, the computer screen pulsates, a soft, ghostly glow. It beckons, a siren call pulling him from the tangle of sheets and memories. As he approaches, each step weighs heavier than the last, echoes of regrets, of decisions made and the consequences they bore.
His gaze, once filled with wonder at the worlds he created, now holds a storm. A tempest of guilt, of love lost, and the sharp sting of blame. The screen becomes a mirror, reflecting back the anguish, the mistakes that led to that heart-wrenching parting. Memories flash: whispered arguments, silent treatments, and the undeniable truth that he had a part in their undoing.
He remembers how he hurt him, the love he drove away. And amidst the codes and tales on that screen, he's reminded of the world they built and the world they lost. A world that, in the wake of heartbreak, has become both his escape and his prison.
Words of Redemption
The dim room casts long shadows, but one object stands stark against the dark – a photograph. A captured moment in time, where happiness seemed endless. The face of his ex beams back, a smile that once was his refuge, now a cruel reminder of what was lost.
Beside it, an ominous presence: a glass bottle filled with pills, the potential to numb, to forget, to end it all. With trembling hands, he reaches for it, the weight of decisions past, and the gravity of choices to come, pressing heavy on his shoulders.
Each pill inside that bottle represents an escape, an easy way out from the torment of his memories, from the chains of his guilt. He turns the bottle in his fingers, the temptation growing with each passing second. His gaze flits between the photo and the pills, torn between the pain of the past and the unknown of the future.
But in a burst of clarity, a moment of defiance against the looming darkness, he decides. The bottle arcs through the air, landing in the trashcan with a dull thud – discarded, rejected, a symbol of his will to continue, to face another day.
Turning back to the screen, he dives into the familiar dance of creation, the world of fantasy that is both his escape and his cell. Word by word, he builds, channels his pain, his love, and his regret into stories, hoping that in some small way, he might find redemption, and perhaps, someday, peace.
I’ll admit; I never thought I could love a person as much as I do. To long for the person after years has gone by since we last spoke. To continue dreaming of said person. Especially considering, that I have never physically met the guy in real life (beyond that of a mere glimpse). We chatted, and did video calls for about 4 months and I fell completely. Honestly, I fell after only some weeks.
I’ve been so tired these last couple of weeks. Being jobless, at a bad mental place, corona, and everything else. (note: I don’t blame the breakup/love on any of this, like being jobless - that is just a result of corona) I tried taking a quick nap but I awoke screaming from a dream/nightmare again.Â
Basically, I dreamt the guy found me in real life at a park, where he hugged me from behind. I invited him back to my place for a cuppa. We chatted about something that I can’t remember anymore. I fucked up again with some comments. And they left in anger again. I attempted to chase, but they were gone.... fml.....
3 years and 1 month since they broke up - since I fucked up.
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It has been 4 months (July 1st, 2020) since I quit smoking, and went over to vaping. I’m still really surprised at how “easy” it was compared to every other attempt I’ve made in my life. I was a 2 pack a day, and had been smoking since I turned 11 - which is roughly 22 years ago.Â
I am sorta convinced that the easiness of it all, is due to my vaper’s fluid containing nicotine, and the mechanic of vaping is similar to smoking. So the mind is tricked into thinking it is the same.Â
It is interesting how quickly the body has adapted and healed itself. Taste and smells are so different today. I can walk up several flights of stairs without getting exhausted.
One point I am very proud of though. I haven’t turned into one of those horrible past-smokers turned anti-smoker that sees other smokers as the plague. My friends continue to be allowed to smoke in my home, it doesn’t bother me, nor does the smoke itself.Â
Sometimes I go above and beyond as a gamemaster :)
Currently, I’ve been having a habit of making these brochures for my players whenever we start a new campaign/act. It greatly helps them with all the basic information they might need for the creation of characters regarding lore, etc.Â
On the back side, I always include a link with a “do you wish to know more” kinda style.Â
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For whatever reason, we were at a summer camp in Denmark. He was a student, I was like a guard of sorts, and my mum was his teacher (ya, I have no clue how she got here, but it was a dream after all :S).
I remember he was being chased down some dirt road leading to the ocean, for an unknown reason. And then he called me in a panic, wanting my help. I went to this place of the dunes, where I knew some summer cabins was, a homeless guy was there when I came and he showed me where the keys was for the big cabin. I remember so crystal clear that while worrying about how my angel was, the only other thing on my mind, was that I would finally be able to hold the person that I love, in my arms, for the first time ever.
The next day, at gathering we were told that today would be a free day, and so I started making like plans for a date in my head. All the while being able to see my angel looking at me from my peripheral.
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