Dream (4/6)

4.

Coffee with your mother at the table. She smiles, I smile, but we are speaking through a fog. Your father is behind us, adjusting the paintings on the wall carefully. I see lines that jump from one painting to the next, the thread of an untold story, and there and then I understand so much. What unfolds, for a moment, is beautiful. A ramshackle home made of twigs, buttons and shoelace. Crystal clarity. I smile, she smiles, he smiles.

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Dream (3/6)

3.

Sunshine, and the feelings of hope that come with spring. The ramshackle park bench where we sat. Your friends engaged in a polite conversation, but the words that fall from their lips don’t have any meaning. I listen attentively, making effort to find familiar syllables. Trying hard to fit in, I bite into the cake, but it turns to oil in my mouth. I gag there are the table, while the faces and voices around me spin. Nobody notices, at least not for now.

Dream (2/6)

2.

Frantic phonetics. The train. Swishing lights back and forth, flickering over my eyes. The lights so bright that I have to look away. Tears. Not mine. Outside is dark, and when I look through the window I see myself and the empty seat next to me. I lock eyes with my reflection, searching my face for meaning. If I close my eyes it still feels like you’re there. The train passes another flickering town, judders to a stop, and I file out, dazed.

Dream (1/6)

1.

Bitter broth, a sweet sickly stillness in the air above the bed where we had laid some night, under a different moon, in another time. Static sounds in the air, the hum of a fan, shadows cast from blue lights. The trees, the trees that bend and twist under the moon, the trees that go on forever. A hand reaches out, like a fever dream, the words clinging to my lips, I turn to you, resting my weary head against your chest. Your ribcage extends out as you sigh, and when I look you are gone.