The dreams that really get me are the pnes which aren’t scary during the dream. The ones which are so real that it feels like living a whole other life. A life entire, until something completely weird happens. It this case it was a hole cut into my skull and inside was a steamer trunk full of bloody leather waistcoats and bloody jeans, a 5 gallon orange water cooler which sloshed in a disconcerting way, and a little jar of vaporub.
I was frantic that there was this huge hole in my skull but these items filled be with terror. Not of the items, but that they would be found and traced back to me.
It was super weird. And there was some subplot where a mobster was trying to escape but his lover dies and somehow she had a kid after dying and he was looking for the kid and the description for the kid was to just look for the most unbearably romantic starry eyed kid which was remarked to be the least useful description.
And the mobster or the kid or the lover weren’t me. I was just watching this unfold.
And during the dream this was all normal and fine. But now I’m awake, and I’m left with a what does it mean. Usually its bits and pieces taken from my day to day. The vaporub was from a youtube video about a Genie from the South. The mobster was probably from a article I read about the show, The Sopranos. The rest of it…. Just what the fuck.
No trick of the light
To have a heart full of stars
Grown in reflection to your love
Leave the taste of you on waking
Tongue ache in remembrance
Hands pressed to lips
Savoring a memory of yet to be
Waking in I love you
Mind flying the miles
A promise to keep you
Safe within my arms
As safe as you desire
There is a distance as warm lethargy drags me down. Cupped hands hold, eyes shielded from the light
Loud voices drift in
Talking nonsense loudly
As if to convince their last neurons of their spent future parody of truth
Dreams spin up
Nightmare into nightmare
Wake on the hour
But at least I can sleep this time
I had this counter in my mind.
Number of days since last screaming cry
Turned over back to zero
Not really counting the days but my body is.
The tension floods out even as the pain wells
And finally, wrung out, blurry eyed
Fall into sleeps embrace
A day alone sleeping
No battery recharge
A resting hum
Fading into dream
A life of love
If only in a dream
As all things are
I have this dream. Again and again. Where we are entwined naked. We are looking into each other’s eyes and you reach your hand between us and take my cock in your hand. I feel myself harden and grow with your simple touch. You guide my cock slowly into your soft wetness. Slowly, I disappear agonizing and slow. I feel you around me. I dip my head down and press my lips to yours. The touch wakes our need and we devour each other. Tongues sliding over and tasting each other. We exist in these slow agonizing moments of pleasure. My heart, my love, my girl. Until I wake, warm bed. Lost and alone. There is only memories and hopes. Adrift in the world. Looking for that perfect moment of connection. When we are fierce and unafraid. When our only thought is each other. When we belong in the moment. To each other.
There comes a point where you realize that the person you want most in your life, won’t be. Much as you may click and even keep in touch, that extra few steps from maybe to yes are just never going to happen. For me that means that I accept what is. If we are friends then I’m all in on the friendship. If we are acquaintances then I imagine we will fade until we are just memories to each other and the occasional birthday wish on social media.
It’s tough realizing the person who was your person will never be the one you hold safe in your arms. Times passing and it seems like you have forever until you wake up and see what behind is more than what’s ahead. Maybe then, you settle. I can’t know. I instead wait. And dream. And write.
I’ll stop hoping but never stop planning. Stop dreaming but never stop the dream. When you glimpse each others hearts, it already too late to back out. Even if you will never be.
Slip into desire
A breaking wave
A falling drop
Life disappears from the margins
Clawing into dreams
Holding onto purchase
That what may be in dreams may hold on
Long enough to be real
Knows roads closed
Still a heart says maybe
Fires of need break
All thought but….
All thought fled
Replaced by maybe
Maybe and please
Your hand in mine
Never to part
A foolish dream that can’t help but live
Knowing the contours of a heart
Hands Pressing into the maze of you
Broken mirror hopes
Each reflection another chance to lose you
Each chance I’d take
For those few whiles you are mine before the end
Fitted together too late
My heart waits eternal
Saying wake beside me
In my arms
All hope lost
I know, I know
I fail, I fail
There is no thought that doesn’t contain you
My heart so foolish
To love and love and love
That thin glass shard
Saying yes, yes this time
Today is Morgan’s birthday. She would have been 44. I’m sure she would still be ravishing.
But that’s not what I have to say today. I’ve been off, living my life, like she would have insisted. And, in the course of doing so, I’ve dated. My last breakup was about 3 months ago. It was an outlier relationship in that it effected me physically as well as emotionally. Specifically, it eased my anxiety and allowed me to sleep at least 8 hours straight through each night. That itself changed me. My depression faded, as it’s exacerbated by sleep deprivation. My health got better and I was not sick for a single day. Which is not to say I’m generally ill but I often feel out of sorts at least once a month.
So it showed me that many of my problems were sleep linked.
I’ve never been a sleeper. Most nights getting between 4-6 hours and crashing once or twice a week. Much of that was occupationally created. Waking up to any odd sound was a bonus in what I had been doing. And not needing as much sleep was just as useful. But my mind and body have paid the toll for that.
So, here I am, 3 months on. Traditionally when I start being better after a breakup. There is always those lingering pieces of why’s and what’s. And after 3 months you start to know, emotionally, that you will never know. So you take from it what you can. And what I can is that sleep is important to me. Which I knew mentally, but having never experienced the effects of sustained nightly ‘enough sleep’ over more than a week; I had no frame of reference.
The last 2 nights I’ve managed enough sleep. Enough that the dreams are back. Enough that I’m traveling the skein of lives. And seeing what some me’s are living in. Last night’s me was burying mobsters in his back yard. Because he was somehow smart enough to be in charge of a criminal syndicate and dumb enough to bury bodies in his back yard. He was also married to a nice and oblivious woman who adopted kittens and kept bees. Most of the dream was his buying digging supplies and lye from a orange craftsmen store. And playing with kittens.
Dreams are weird.
Looking at things with passion, with bright eyes
They crack as if we weren’t shells but mindless mysteries
Dreams experienced in the flash of exhaustion
Waking to strange words on lips
Time for an emergency landing folks and this time, need your votes
Talking but my eyes tell a story of microsleep
Dreams turning about in prophecy
Watching her drown
Covered in snakes
Images seared into the mind
No vague lifetimes lived in the dreaming
Sidereal journeys to tomorrow
To strange branes
Through bioelectric signals
There and not there
Affording glimpses into
Waking up sleepy
Sleep brings dreams
Dreams that feel real
Real like a life not being lived
Living in ways that I’m not
Not happy with what is happening
What happens when you wake without
Without that connection to someone
Someone you thought
Thought was forever
More than a friend
Friendship led deeper
Deep into companionship
Companions who loved
Love doesn’t mean together
Together romantically at least
Least among equals
Equality of choices
Choices I made hoping for you at my side
Side by side in companionship
I never thought we’d end up together
But I did think that we would be more
Than the past heights