A Note on Some People I Met During a Year Spent As Surreal Times Interesting Person Contact

I met a man whose tales talk back. And he was as much in them as they were in him. He was afraid to fall into himself and lose the world again. Because, when the hims inside of him would bicker, he got nothing but lonely.

I met a ballerina, and I might be wrong, but when she spoke, her eyes went up and then down as if searching her soul to see if what they were about to say fit with what's inside of her, However, I couldn't tell if she noticed. The ballerina said she left her music box, went to turn to the sound of her own song. And though I haven’t heard it since, the song lingers on me and I hope it is being heard, still as hers and still as true, in every beeswax-sealed dream, bursting out and breaking sighs into screams.

I met a boy who for a moment saw a Little Tin Soldier who left its winding key behind and went to walk in his own shadows. With a rusted inside and an enamel outside. That encounter signed somewhere in the boy's brain even though he said he couldn't remember the tin soldier's name, and its ticking still talks to him every now and then.

I met a sad clown who smiled so wide she cracked her cap and chose to live like a joke that lingered too long after a laugh, as a ghost on a carousel like a shadow of who she was. She talked to herself through a puddle with a stranger's face who wore a painted mask.

I met a boy with mirrored tears, a tomorrow smile, and a mushy soul, who felt afraid to meet the screaming feelings hung below.

I met a prude who painted himself a breathing plastic mask and hid away in it. Pebble upon pebble was thrown at his painted pain, at his mask. Not all who threw the pebbles saw the mask fall. But all of those who threw, are with him all in all, as memories and valued figures always on call. And little by little, cracks began to shine through showing his face like sighs or stars.

I met a boy who once dreamt of himself, and when he woke he was still him. Every soul has its own song. If you squint your ears and dream during the day, you can hear it, but that's just what he told me today, he can't really remember what he said yesterday, and who knows what he'll say tomorrow…

For more articles by Charleigh Clark, click here. To get in touch with this writer, email clark.charleigh@surrealtimes.net.


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