Dear Lucas,
Nowadays, I have no choice but to feed my life with my
memories of you embedded in the past, because the present will never have
captive memories of you, the future will not bring them to me today, tomorrow;
or ever, and if it could bring them to me; it will still be too late. All of this happens in my dreamery.
I dream of dreams every day.
I dream of dreams of you and of what of those dreams could have been a
reality. The most shocking thing Lucas,
is that my dreams are so oneiric compared to the reality that you were. But that is the fate of dreams: be intangible
and insubstantial, be indefinable and impalpable; and condemned to live forever
reclusive in our vast imagination.
There, in my dreamery; they are real, so I travel there every day to
live my dreams with you. Oh, Lucas! I miss you so very much!
My dreams are as crazy as they are passionate, perhaps
outlandish, bizarre, and very eccentric, but these dreams are my dreams with
you, and not of you. I invent these wild
dreams with you in an intangible place, in a far away universe, perhaps in the
place where you are now. People might
laugh about my dreams with you and laugh of me because I am just a senile
spirit with a demential imagination; but, what do they know? I do not resent their laughs because I am
glad they are not in a place like I am now: Floating in a sad void without your
presence.
I will tell you my demential dreams. You know Lucas that I was crazy by birth, and
fortunately; I have not changed a bit. I
learned this from you Lucas when you told me once: I am as I am, and in no
other way. So I follow your lead.
I dream that we are tamers of guardian lions, hunters of underground
dark moments, farmers of wild dreams, potters of solid truths, carpenters of
foolishness, forgers of cursed chains, creators of furious crocodile cascades,
and crucibles of fantastic happiness.
And you and I gallop these dreams between laughter and truths; and your
pristine laugh echoes in the Universe.
And then I leave my dreamery. I do not know how long I was there but it is
not important because now my spirit is patched up, and my tears joined the
starts of the cosmos. I did not cry, but
my chicks are wet, I was cold, but now my heart is warm, and the world does not
look gray today. When it starts to look
ashen, sunless, and stale, I will refuge myself in my dreamery again, and we
will travel to sidereal spaces on the back of yellow dragons.
I love you
Lucas. I miss you. Son.
Your Dad.