September
Ballad
How can you forget the past if it happens only in your
Dreams? How can you escape its stigmata?
Her memories are hunting me. Erika. She’s stranger.
I met her once in my Dream. It was September were Ballad
songs are oxymoron of eulogy and despair. (The songs of Beatles
kept recurring in my mind like a repetitive mathematical
numbers.)
The Dream. Avenue Melancholy—that was where I met
her, a downtown cyber-electronic world my brain created,
perhaps, out of inhibitions and uncertainties in my real
world. There, in the world of mirage and hyper-realities,
where androids and humans roam endlessly in search of songs
to captivate their hearts out of loneliness and despair,
I, too, have searched an anthem for an antidote of my sadness.
“I want to buy happiness,” I told her. “Where
could I buy it?”
“I could sell it for you, but first tell me the meaning
of “The Philosophy of Sigh”,” she said.
I smiled.
“Philosophy of Sigh is defined,” staring at
her eyes—those color brown optic jewels in Heaven, “As
when everything seems so hopeless and that the only thing
you could offer in this world is a sigh. Everything here
is transient, you could only feel their sorrows gone like
a sigh.”
“From now on your name is Sigh No.14,” she
said.
I laughed. “Why no. 14?”
“Because you are one of the Tetradoids and your serial
number is X0250914.”
“Where did you came from,” I asked.
“From an Island,” she said.
“Where is that?”
“You can’t go there. No Tetradoids are allowed
to go there.”
“Why?”
“Because you do not have a memory. People do not
live there, they just go there to erase their memory and
then come back here to live in episodic life. That is the
Island of Happiness. ”
“Are you a nymph? The one responsible of deleting
their memory?”
“Yes, I am one of them.”
“Well, perhaps, you could sell me a piece of their
memory.”
She laughed.
“I’m serious. I’ll buy it for you.”
“Why?”
“Ah, memories, they are cold as fire; and warm as
snow. I want to live even if it cost me to suffer.”
“Well, I have here a memory of a man who suffer from
losing a love one.”
“How much?”
“Just a kiss.”
I kissed her. I touch her soul.
“Ah, wait, just one more thing,” she said.
“What?”
“I am the woman whom the man loved.”
I woke up. I miss her. |
