Yes, I've been avoiding you.
I am not ready, yet, to reconcile with myself. On what you are. To me. For some reason, I don't want to admit I have lost. I don't want to admit I want more. I don't want to play games. I don't want ... I just want you. In my life. Close to me. Really close to me.
Impossible, I know. Rejected. Not real. Imaginary? Yes. As you are mine in the alternative reality I've built on the vertical axis. The imaginary axis. The one to measure dreaming. Addictive - yes. Illegal? Not yet.
Yes, I know, I'm being hurt - again - by my own dreams. I build them in my own crystal globe - more beautiful than they will ever be. Then - smash it on the floor, in thousands of small, sharp pieces. Rub my soul with them until it bleeds to death. Beg for it to die. TO DIE. But it resurrects, with the stubbornness of spiders climbing the Empire State Building. The patience of snails traveling around the world. Imaginary. Infinite. And (de)generative.
Should I stop? Maybe. But then - what's left of zero? I am only special in my dreams. I am only alive in my own world. The one orthogonal on reality. It will never be(come?) real.
Blame it on my schizophrenia. And wish they will take me away from this world, that they call real, and let me live in my beautiful math world. No loss - it's math, everything is perfect.
But no, they'll never do it. I've been baptised by the real world, and I will have to live and die (t)here. I'm complex - yet my imaginary part only belongs to the mathematically drawn reality in my head. I'm just a complex number stuck on a graph with two orthogonal axes - a clash of worlds.
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