A Journey to Yesterday- story in chapters. Chapter 1
Back in Yesterday I had a dreamy flashback of a perfect morning: it was in some coffee shop, with a full cup of course, starting to write and feeling just so fresh and full of energy. Somehow, it was purely a flashback to the wonderland as it's 2016 and it still basically never happened. But since I still see it, like I once saw it Yesterday, I am packing my bag and run out on a mission: I'm looking for Yesterday! Anybody out there wants to help me?
Recently I have undergone a lot of changes which not necessarily served me well in a matter of 'future'. To be frank, I stopped writing even my personal diary. There is this space in between whatever's in your head and a piece of paper. What's in this space, sometimes turns to be hard to chew. In regards to whatever had been happening in my head, I regularly practise mindwriting. And on some level, it works just as fine as if one had swallowed three bottles of whisky and finished it off with a pack of Gauloises. Oh, and RebBull of course, always RedBull.
But mostly mindwriting has one quality none other activity really has: it brings up images which had been previously deeply buried and forgotten. I had this flashback while walking through Drury Lane some other day: suddenly I saw faces of two of good friends of mine next to me, laughing and crossing the street towards Holborn Station. The point is, I have never been there with these particular friends, surely not at that time of the year either that time of the day. Then I realised that mindwriting can be dangerous: it may actually bring over the memories of somebody else.
Thrilled by my recent discovery, I decided to jump onboard of a time machine and find my real Yesterday. I was hoping it was going to simply lay down behind some corner of my mind, resting and waiting for resurrection. But the truth, my dear readers, turned to be more complicated. As usual.
After crossing several avenues of my mind, I finally reached the door of Mr Frank. I kept repeating myself that if he still keeps compulsively holding his nail file I would just leave. But Frank, my once regular imaginary therapist, opened the door wearing a fluffy dressing gown and slippers that he got from Mr Charming for Christmas five years ago. He seemed much more calm and collected, and a steady smile on his face made me thinking that he might have overdosed his incense sticks fumes. But he seemed to be also happy to see me and at the same time, not surprised at all. Maybe he had been also thinking of Yesterday, of old times when he has become created in my mind, before I offered him an independence from my imagination. Although, he did not seem to get carried away by being an autonomous unit- his apartment was just as tidy as it used to be and his favourite armchair was still in the same place where I put it. He offered me a cup of tea, and almost everything seemed like an old Frank, the Frank of Yesterday.
