Sometimes I escape.
I escape to a place where things have colour, where things are they way I wish they were, but still not predictable. Everything so unexpected, so, so,
so hard to explain in words.
It is a place where I enjoy being, there are quite a few of us there. We are all regular visitors. It is a place where I can meet wonderful people, not all joyful and full of life, not all well read and well spoken, not all like the kind… but all thoughtful and kind.
I must admit, sometimes when I spend time with my thoughts, which is most of the time, I can hear my thoughts going through things people have said, things people have done. Sometimes a line just pops up and I find myself searching for the conversation, the place, the time, the person, my thoughts pass by faster and faster. Sometimes it is something that has happened, I find myself searching my memory for that particular moment…
Then after a while I realise it was merely something out of a book, or a movie, most often a book. Sometimes I wonder why I find myself more at home in the world of books and movies than I do with real people. Could it be the fact that most of my friends still are in the world that I some years ago left. That most people that I meet really do not interest me all that much. They do all so often never have anything new, or in my mind, exiting to tell. Then there are times that I meet people, people who are more like me. People I actually like talking to, people who make me feel like I actually have something of interest to say. People I can just sit and listen to,
but most of all people I enjoy being with. Then when we part, and it all starts to sink in. I start wondering if they were just a part of my thoughts, if all was just a dream. But then I realise that it was all true, they were for real.
They were all part of the same world.
