in dream, last night:

a ship: bringing me home. the water: tempestuous. large rocks threatened the hull, but the captain’s navigation was perfect. our first port of call: France. i dropped my shoes in the ocean. they drifted out of my reach and when i waded in to get them: fists full of smooth amethyst. the water: clear and warm. the stones: perfect at catching the light. i felt so assured i didn’t care that my feet were soaked. and then a bird: pastel green and yellow and white with a human expression. a bird that doesn’t exist in reality. it looked at me, hard, hopping along the dock. my heart was pounding but i wasn’t afraid of anything. the motel: cheap and run down. the paint: chipped and worn. i murdered the painter. made off through a field: knives in the grass. i couldn’t pick them up but i didn’t want the children’s feet to get cut. they were so happy.  i walked up many, many, many flights of stairs and i was in a strange new city. feeling listless. an old man asked me to love him. i was indifferent but i nodded, yes. he left to buy something i could wear around my neck and i was hung with fear. the young people who overheard were laughing. and then, your voice on an answering machine: “i know there’s something here. let’s see what it is. i think we owe it to ourselves.” my heart: pounding again. i ran through the building, across the roof and you were down below, singing a song i used to know. i think you wrote it. you smiled up at me and i understood everything. running to meet you i ended up in an enclosed meadow. capybaras that were huge and friendly took an interest in me. before i woke up: a strange fox that doesn’t exist in reality. brown with black stripes, spots and a tender little face. a head way smaller than its body. i reached out to touch it, and i woke up alone, still dreaming of you.

do you dream of me too?



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