Opium dens
I think I can understand why people used to enter opium dens, pick up pipes and never leave again.
Sometimes things happen in your life that fill you with regret, or a gaping sense of loss. Then when you sleep, you dream. You dream of a time and place, a world where things have turned out fine. That knot of anxiety you have within, the one squeezing your heart uncomfortably, just disappears.
As you drift back towards consciousness, part of you knows that it isn't real. But the other part whispers into your ear "It could always be real right? It feels real doesn't it?". So you fight to fall back into the dream, because face it, reality sucks then.
But you can't sleep forever. And when you finally come to? It hits you. Not like a speeding truck, but like a slow acting poison. The pain was always there, its just that you only just realised it. And it hurts.
Sometimes things happen in your life that fill you with regret, or a gaping sense of loss. Then when you sleep, you dream. You dream of a time and place, a world where things have turned out fine. That knot of anxiety you have within, the one squeezing your heart uncomfortably, just disappears.
As you drift back towards consciousness, part of you knows that it isn't real. But the other part whispers into your ear "It could always be real right? It feels real doesn't it?". So you fight to fall back into the dream, because face it, reality sucks then.
But you can't sleep forever. And when you finally come to? It hits you. Not like a speeding truck, but like a slow acting poison. The pain was always there, its just that you only just realised it. And it hurts.