I remember it so well. I was crying, i didn’t show it outside. I was sitting in front of him. He knew i wasn’t OK and yet he asked me if i was, and I said I’m fine. I haven’t been fine from ever since.
I don’t remember all of my lies. I only remember that i used to believe in them because it was easier to remember it when i believed. I would remember it visually. Its never easy to forget a visual memory. I am still afraid of butterflies and i don’t want to be.
A year ago, when i was writing, i had a strange memory. I could not tell if it was a memory or my imagination. I did not know if it happened when i was young or if it was just something i randomly created while i was writing. Anyway, the memory was cruel. It was the flapping of a broken butterfly wing stuck to a wall. I think i had imagined it. But i don’t know for real. How do you know what’s real and what is not, when the mind makes things up on its own.
There’s a child who comes home regularly. I don’t respond to her much, so sometimes she talks to herself. Sometimes i notice she imagines having conversations with her school mates. She tells them what to do. She even becomes angry and i realize/remember the times when i do it in my own privacy. Especially when i feel i have no control over myself. I think all people do that. Everyone has their own little imaginations running on their minds.
Humanity is confused i think. To awaken from that confusion, one has to dream. Isn’t it ironic that to wake up you must dream…
As soon as i came out of the room, i couldn’t feel. We were traveling. He asked me what happened, and i told him that i was feeling cold. It was a lie. But i could never stop feeling the cold. It only got worse until i forgot about it.