Strange days have found me. I live in a house full of people; I'm all alone and have been for some time. I'm not sure when it started, but I now find my brain runs at a different frequency. Not just to the people around me, but to the whole world. I can just about understand the others, the things they talk about. But I can't really see the point to anything they say. I shouldn't complain, because no one is remotely interested in anything I have to say. Daily, I feel myself sliding.
It wasn't always like this. I was young once - not that I'm old now. Age is insignificant, or at least it should be.
Part of me relishes the solitude, the hours I can spend alone in my head. The world I create in there is so much better than the world outside. At times, it can even be exciting. God is not the only one who can create life. My dreams are as real to me now as reality ever was.
For in the end, what is the difference between a dream and a memory?
© Liz Haigh 2012
Liz Haigh lives in the Northwest of England, where it used to rain a lot but not so much lately. She has one husband, a horse, two children, two guinea pigs, a job. When she’s not busy doing one hundred and one other things, she is working on a novel for young adults, which she hopes will change her life and the lives of the people who read it. She likes to shoot for the stars and all that stuff.