Freedom?

Every morning I wake and it's the same old thing. Every morning I wake and I want to be there. Not here.

Not here.

Every morning life takes a crap on me again. All my dreams are of that place. The place where she is and where they are. Where it all went right and wrong at such a quick pace, but it's the only place I want to be, trying to fix what I broke.

Alas, no do-overs. That's what the fine, but lifeless-looking blonde behind the partition in reception said to me. No do-overs, no retakes. You can't go back even for a visit.

I try to float through my life with some determination, but nothing seems to change. Not the way I want, anyway. The changes that do happen, are small, slight and trivial to say the least.

A new donut available in the kitchen at work. A new t-shirt and jeans, every-so-often.

There. The moon danced during the daylight hours, while the sun pulled the morning shift. There. The rain drenched us with a multitude of different flavours. Sweets and sours were my favourite. But there was also some stunning savoury rains.

There. We didn't need to wear a lot of layers. It wasn't a sea of pasty flesh, but there was a freedom.

Then, things started going wrong. A crack in the reality. The real world started seeping in. I had been worried about her, the girl I left behind. She had become consumed with joy and desire and it was slowly killing her, or so I suspected. No-one else believed me and thought I was catastrophising. They thought I was looking for cracks in the paradise, like I was looking for something to go wrong.

Then I tried to help her and she resented me for it. She put up walls around paradise and stopped me from visiting.

I still visit, alas, but just in dreams.

Dreams that leave me full of sadness when they eventually end and I wake to my sober life. Being sober and free, I've learned is a lot different from being high and free.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is my first piece of writing for L.C. maddening challenge to write and publish a micro/flash piece of ficition ever day of the year. It was very much a train-of-thought, spur-of-the-moment thing. You can find out more about it from the original post below:

To be clear, this is fiction and I don't feel being free from an addiction is the wrong path to take. Was just trying to take a leftfield approach.