Exceptional Rambling thoughts while in the grips of a headache Things past by apelle Trapped writing prompt entry

There are three-dimensional components to human consciousness.  We are born and grow old with them. The other day, while a gruesome headache held me hostage for hours,  I walked endlessly round and round with my thoughts flashing vaults  of lightning on my cortex  until I became  flooded with  memories. Remember Proust and his Remembrance of Things Past?  Same as Proust's character, when I let my mind wander, I suddenly thought of my own olfactory reverie. I wanted to slip through the private door between reality and dreams and weave fresh thoughts, overlap the old ones. Maybe I should start a dream travel agency.  The only one without a precise time of arrival or departure. I would name it Icarus.  I know it is not very imaginative but such as it is, its buses would load up baggage holding only memories.  Enough satisfying trances wrapped nicely in black leather boxes to keep anyone relaxed throughout any imaginary journey. To embark on Icarus dream bus, a vivid mirror rimmed with a red frame would shine in your dark bedroom and after a few moments, you would be transported to a seat on the bus. Now close your eyes, and enjoy the ride. Float over lakes of despair, over multiple fields with dreams like flowers, snow-bound mountains hiding your years of relentless wander. With the speed of thought, maybe faster, the bus would finally land in your own meadow of dreams and memories. Now get your dreams and memories out of the box  - do not even worry about any Customs  -  instead release them in the unaffected and forgiving nature of your own garden. When you finally open your eyes everything is over, as if it never happened. So much junk was in the trunk you packed.  The black leather box - empty now.  You do not have memories anymore. I know, experts frown when faced with the predictability of human desires. When my headache released its grip, I faced the realization that I do not want to live in the past but I also feared living without my many,  beautifully colored, golden, magic, thoughts and reminiscences.  Not only old people think the past is everything and not only young people believe in the future and nobody can live like a stubborn wild horse only in the present.     Writing Prompt I walked, endlessly, round and round... Recognized

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