We are young, reckless and utterly "ima wo ikiru"..."being", living in the moment with no past and no future, and an aimless, rudderless love for life itself.
Mood music. The excellent Danish punk, gothabilly band, Volbeat.
The first car we've encountered on this lonely highway, speeds us by. The driver's tie is at half-mast, bags line his eyes which show a far-away look of deep concentration on the road and whatever else lies heavy on his mind. In the backseat, a bored child's face is pressed against the glass. I try to smile at her as we pass, but no light comes to the little girl's eyes, and we're quickly forgotten.
And then the dream dies around me. What was perpetual sunset, is now a descending darkness. I feel the night's chill set in, and realize that I brought nothing to keep me warm. I begin to become consciously aware of the heavy lump in my pocket where an empty wallet lies. I worry as the gas needle drops faster than gravity would seem possible. What once was whimsy on her face turns into a cold distance, and furrows unconsciously gather in her brows. There grows a distant pang somewhere in the pit of my stomach that isn't attributable to growing hunger alone. I start to think about -not this moment- but the moment's that must come tomorrow, and the preparation that must be done now so as to live in that future, rather than this moment.
And, it's a dream. A bittersweet one; an irresponsible one; an impossible one.
It is, in short, Rousseau's notion of the liberated individual; the spirit freed from the strictures of everyday society. And it leaves me gasping for breath as I choke against the tethers that I only occasionally feel, but which I've leashed about myself in an effort to stave off uncertainty.
A dream juxtaposed against a very real sacrifice. That is what I'll tell myself today, anyway.