Hypomania and Pipe Dreams

You truly haven’t been alive until it’s 2 a:m midnight and you’re waiting for the moon to turn blue just for you. And when you’re young and wild, it is not that far from reality. I paint what I remember as the last painting I ever made, struggling against the break of the dawn. It wouldn’t do to not have my piece of art finished within this hour. And so it did. Everything is possible once in a blue moon. You get to paint an entire galaxy and live within it for a month or so.

You can not claim to be a poet, a painter or lover without the gift of feeling drowning anguish and exorbitant ecstasy simultaneously.

I could walk under the moonlight back and forth until it is time for the sunrise. To only speak and think and feel of my own little galaxy. It was a delightful heaven and a morbid hell. I waited not to remember yesterday. I over-indulged in delusions of the present and future was a miracle waiting to happen. But it was only during the insomniac night did I dare and dream. The afternoons were spent in the nostalgia of a past that never was as it seemed. I lived in more or less a pipe dream.

But why did I color my nights with bright blue, purple and green?

It wasn’t enough of its own to just fall asleep.