ORIGIN: It’s all there in the eyes. The tiger is missing a few stripes, but most dreams start as a rough outline anyway. And we like conjoined twins.
I like reading between the lines. Those little things that don’t meet the eye. I was told not to look into the sun. Never to ride into the sunset. But I can’t help following my heart. Winter is calling my dreams. Sunrises. Sunsets. I don’t know how many staves I can squeeze from the horizons on this tiger’s fur. But I have to give it a try. My best bear hug. Who knows, maybe I will add a broken rib or two into the mix. I have no use for lullabies. What I lack is something that keeps me asleep. Till winter melts away and green bursts forth. Hope hurts. But so does everything else. And if that’s the case, I want to read something that lifts the corners of my mouth.
The delay of light? I have never heard of such a thing. Just like the sun, I have no use for the past. Be it sunrises or sunsets, the horizon remains out of reach. That, right there, is the definition of future for you. But there’s no point in imagining a future that most likely won’t come to pass. Regardless of what you may think, I am not still that dim-witted tiger you once knew. I live with both feet on the ground. My smile was just another possibility that took flight, never to be seen again. Look, there’s no food between my teeth. If I were to close my eyes, my bear would starve in its sleep. Grass may be greener on the other side, but I have always been a carnivore. Passion leaves scars behind. Deep, deep tiger stripes. And I am sick and tired of spring not living up to my dreams. These days I intentionally leave my sleep blank. That’s the best present I could make myself.
If I had a gift horse, I wouldn’t look it in the mouth. I would ride off into the sunset and call it a day. The fact that I have a tiger doesn’t change anything. Prison bars. Horizons in a neat row against an orange backdrop that doesn’t fade to black nor bleed into blue. I am a child and I get to decide what to imprison. My parents say that my dreams have wronged me, but they were the ones that gave me my first teddy bear. Starlight casts kinder shadows than daylight, and anyway, no one expects children to grow up these days. Happiness is the be-all and end-all of life. I have a pair of bookends in my hands. My bear and I are happiest from dusk till dawn. My parents set me on this path, and they don’t get to complain about what I feed to my tiger.
A tiger and a bear. Oranges and honey. Other-halves and happily-ever-afters. Is that the train of thought I am supposed to follow? I won’t deny that there’s a passing resemblance between tiger stripes and train tracks, and I wouldn’t mind leaving my footprints on the moon, but I don’t want my life to revolve around love. Some would say that it’s too early. I say that it’s too late. Love is what I should have received long before I learned to spell that word. Without having to ask for it. Without having to go looking for it. I say that it’s too late because I have already found a hole in my heart, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trying to fill it. Love should come as naturally as breathing. I grew up without missing air, and I wish I could have grown up only ever knowing the feeling of my lungs bursting at the seams with love.
Right: I am not your father. I have no obligation to push you on a swing.
Left: I know. You are a honey-colored tiger and I am a bear. I sleep in caves. That’s the art that inspires my dreams. I especially like handprints. Don’t get me wrong, my father has never raised a hand against me. That’s not what I am talking about. I like those handprints that seem to glow in the dark best. I think guidance is the word I am looking for. But my father has never wished me sweet dreams, so…
Right: …
Left: You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. We won’t meet in my dreams.
Right: Please don’t say that.
Left: Why not? I’m only speaking the truth. Dreams are the loneliest place on earth. They are full of puppets on strings. Neurons might light up my brain, but empty colors cast a gloom over my heart. I might see your face, but I only hear the words I put in your mouth, and whether they are remembered or made-up doesn’t make a difference.
Right: But I sleep like the dead. Just give me your hand, I promise you nothing will pry open this bear trap. I’m a tiger. Rigor mortis has nothing on my fire. Just let my warmth spread out and keep you company in your dreams.
Left: The cave where I winter once belonged to a dragon and I took a page from its book. It’s not gold, but now I have a hoard of dreams.
Right: And your point is?
Left: What I’m trying to say is that I have no reason to beg. This is me trying to let you into my world. If you take my hand, I will curve my mouth into a smile and my eyes into crescent moons and gladly share my magic with you. But if you refuse, I won’t chase after you as though you were fleeing prey.
Left: Let’s bear hug.
Right: I would rather not. I am not an orange, I wasn’t born to be squeezed.
Left: I know you are a tiger, silly. I’m just sick and tired of eating dandelions. Someone told me that wishes are synonymous with dreams, but even though I celebrated Christmas in July to try and raise the odds, none of my dreams came true. That’s why I’ve decided to hug you. If I squint my eyes, your stripes look just like flowering stems. Come, let me make you into a bouquet.
Right: I said no. I’m not interested in blooming into your nightmare.