Heinz 57

This is first time I’ve written about her in a long, long while. I refrained from doing so because I’m afraid all this time has changed the way I perceive her, almost as if distance has tainted those precious memories. I don’t think I could flawlessly capture the way she made me feel that very first day I talked to her. At least not anymore. It’s been almost 4 years since that moment in time.

But that moment had been one of instant attraction. I’ve never felt that way since, and I remember that infatuation had haunted me. She’s a girl. My common sense would not forgive me and convinced me that it was a simple phase. That phase lasted more than a cycle of seasons. I walk backwards and into those seasons all the time.


1. It was rare, I was there.


I woke up from another hazy mess of a dream.

In the past, when I spoke of dreams with friends, they always described theirs as those with vivid colour, painting a detailed backdrop. Yet for as long as I could remember, mine have always been shrouded by undaunted fog. A layer of mist that absorbed most of the life out of that parallel universe.

Brooklyn visits me in my dreams every now and then. Her blonde hair and hazel eyes weren't as enchanting as I recall, but this was a different world.

In this unconscious realm, I get fooled into thinking we’re on civil terms, when the reality is that we haven’t spoken in over a year and a half. I've never forgotten. How does someone so important just slip right out of my life? Here, you looked older. Of course you did, you are older. Yet when you talked to me, I didn't feel the way I felt around you at 15 and 16. But our conversation felt like something pulled straight out of a memory box. Only I distinguished the difference because you have a boyfriend now, and he was there.

The most fragmented segment was the scene with a labyrinth of flights of stairs. There was a particular, familiar staircase in this artistic chaos. I’d forgotten about this piece until I saw it then and there. I'd seen it before in my dreams during my senior year of high school. I just couldn't figure out the significance of its reappearance. There was a huge gap on one of the floors where stairs should have been, and the only way you could get across was by jumping. But I couldn't muster the courage to do so. I would walk to the other side of the building where I'd get lost on dark stairs or in sci-fi metallic elevators that led to mazes of shower stalls and even to the stratosphere, all to avoid that fatal jump between those stairs, with which failure meant my death. 

I don’t know what that staircase symbolizes, but it is as fuzzy in my mind now as when I saw it in my dreams. I don’t know why Brooklyn visits me, but the truth is I have an issue with letting go of faces in my past. I hold on to nothing, and I think that’s what’s tearing me apart right now with Jayce. I should really move along. 

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