I can't call her the past because she is ever-present. She is distant, but always within sight. Today a cool breeze breathed some of her perfume and - for a while - the distance evaporated. The addictive fragrance gently stroked a sleeping dream out of hibernation. This particularly beautiful dream had been resting on the other side of the barzakh in the vast ocean of my memory; the barzakh which did not allow the sweet and salt water to mix - that barzakh.
This dream was beautiful because she was his first. Before anything else, he had always wanted to be an astronaut. Pakistan didn't have a space program though and he didn't have a spaceship. His instincts would whisper to him and tell him the stars were a map. A map to what or where he didn't know. But that's why he needed his spaceship and one day, just like that, he found one.
A journey into the heavens.
Does a journey to the heavens have to be a fight against gravity?
A dream unable to escape the pull of reality.
The return. A vessel catches fire as it re-enters the realm it tried to escape.
A crash landing in sweet water.
A tidal wave of sweet water
A reminder:
Reality, too, is but a forgotten dream.
Reality, too, is but the forgotten dream.
