Machinarium

Each morning I wake up, it confuses me that I keep dreaming about one person, seeing the familiar face in several nights and several conjectured places. Sometimes he’s distant, his face and eyes cold, lost and transparent as I try to reach over to him with my muted confessions.

Sometimes he’s closer, wildly closer it feels painful even when I already wake up. He would be in that familiar shirt, his face angled and breathlessly happy…

I would dream of that place too, of the lake at Central. and winds so fierce. But it’s dead and desolate, like in Machinarium.

How many more years when I’m already old and tired… how many more years do I have to wait?

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